Fazkurūnī azkurkum wa-ushkurū lī wa lā takfurūn (“فَاذْكُرُونِي أَذْكُرْكُمْ وَاشْكُرُوا لِي وَلَا تَكْفُرُونِ). “So remember Me; I will remember you. And be grateful to Me and do not be ungrateful to Me” (Surah Al-Baqarah 2:152). These divine words pierce through time like a voice echoing from the heavens, a call to a humanity that has forgotten its Creator amidst the glitter and noise of the modern world. Today, we live in an era of relentless noise and shallow distractions. Everything around us is built to capture attention, to keep the heart racing, the mind wandering, and the soul numb. In this race of materialism, where every second is monetized, and every soul is commercialized, the remembrance of Allah has become a forgotten art, a distant echo in the chambers of a restless heart. And yet, the One who gave us life waits — not because He needs us, but because He loves us. How many of us truly remember Allah today? Not with our tongues alone, but with our hearts, our eyes, our thoughts, and our choices? How many of us wake up in the morning and say “Alhamdulillah” before we touch our phones? How many of us cry in sujood instead of crying on social media? How many of us remember Allah not just when tragedy strikes, but when ease is poured upon us, quietly, daily, like sunlight and breath? The reality is painful: we remember the world more than the Creator of the world. We remember money, people, likes, and success — but we forget the One who controls every atom of this dunya. And then, when our hearts collapse under the weight of stress, anxiety, betrayal, heartbreak, and depression — we ask, “Why isn’t Allah helping me?” But how can we expect Allah’s help when we forgot Him in our comfort? Rasulullah ﷺ said: “Remember Allah during times of ease and He will remember you during times of difficulty.” (Tirmidhi) This is not just advice; it is the roadmap to peace. But today, even our ease is a trap. The comfort of this world has made us forget the Akhirah. Our comfort has turned into poison. We thank everyone except Allah. We thank doctors, waiters, teachers, friends — but not the One who healed us, fed us, taught us, and sustained us when no one else knew what we were going through. The Prophet ﷺ said, “The closest a servant is to his Lord is while he is in prostration…” (Sahih Muslim). But how many of us even make sujood now with tears, with trembling voices, with hearts cracked open from pain and yearning? Most of us pray like robots — quick, hollow, distracted. And still, we wonder why we feel lost. Surah Al-Baqarah is a mirror to our times. In it, Allah warns us again and again about forgetting Him. He reminds us of the Bani Israel — a nation that saw miracles but still turned away, a people who had divine guidance but chose dunya. Does it sound familiar? Because we are living the same cycle. We have Qur’ans in every house but dust on every copy. We have apps, translations, lectures, and scholars — but our hearts are empty. We scroll endlessly, consume meaninglessly, and live thoughtlessly. Surah Al-Baqarah speaks of pain — the pain of nations who were favoured yet ungrateful, the pain of people who chose arrogance over obedience, and the divine sorrow of a Creator who offers mercy but is met with forgetfulness. We, too, are in that story now. Every ruku of Surah Al-Baqarah echoes the human condition — our greed, our rebellion, our short-sightedness. And then, Allah says, “Fazkuruni azkurkum…” like a mother calling her child back home, like a beloved whispering, “Just remember Me — I will remember you.” But today, we remember influencers more than Allah. We cry for actors and celebrities, but not for the Prophet ﷺ who cried for us in the middle of the night, saying, “Ummati, Ummati.” He ﷺ said, “Whoever remembers Allah, Allah remembers him among those who are better than them.” (Bukhari & Muslim) He would wake in the depth of the night, standing until his feet swelled, and when asked why, he would reply, “Should I not be a thankful servant?” And here we are — with every blessing imaginable — yet we sleep through Fajr, complain about minor discomforts, and drown in our own complaints. The Prophet ﷺ said: “The comparison of the one who remembers Allah and the one who does not is like that of the living and the dead.” (Bukhari) Most of us today are dead inside. We wear branded clothes but carry broken souls. We live in furnished houses but sleep with empty hearts. We have families, phones, and followers — yet no peace. Why? Because the soul was created to know its Lord, and when it forgets Him, it dies. Even if the body lives, even if the bank balance rises, the soul withers without dhikr. And that’s why people today cry without knowing why. We say “I’m tired,” but it’s not our body — it’s our soul that is exhausted from sin, from heedlessness, from the weight of unspoken distance from Allah.
Obsessed with more—wealth, fame, recognition—chasing it, we’ve lost what matters: Allah’s pleasure. It’s an age of spiritual bankruptcy; our souls starve, fed with glitter. This world cannot satisfy you; there’s always more to chase and lose. Remembering Allah, even without possessions, brings contentment. He is Al-Ghani, the Self-Sufficient.
Allah says in Surah Al-Baqarah: “And when My servants ask you concerning Me, indeed I am near. I respond to the call of the supplicant when he calls upon Me…” (2:186). But how often do we truly call upon Him? How often do we weep in sajdah and speak to Him like a friend, like a father, like the only One who understands every corner of our heart? Instead, we seek comfort in people who don’t care, in habits that destroy us, in entertainment that numbs us. We forget that only the remembrance of Allah heals. Allah says: “Verily, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest.” (Surah Ar-Ra’d 13:28). Not in money. Not in relationships. Not in success. Not in medication. Only in dhikr — deep, intimate, trembling remembrance of the One who made you. And then, He commands: “Washkuruli wa la takfuroon.” “Be grateful to Me, and do not be ungrateful.” Gratitude today is rare. We see people with more and feel deprived, instead of seeing those with less and feeling humbled. We complain about the food, while some sleep hungry. We cry over a cracked phone, while some beg for eyesight. We rage at delays, but never thank for protection from hidden harm. Ingratitude is the seed of misery. The Prophet ﷺ said, “Whoever is not grateful to people is not grateful to Allah.” (Tirmidhi) And how can we be grateful to Allah when we are always comparing, always whining, always focused on what we don’t have? And look around — the world is drowning in greed. People lie for promotions, cheat for status, abandon their families for wealth. Children neglect their parents. Siblings fight over inheritance. Spouses betray each other. Every day, the ummah bleeds — not just from wars, but from hearts hardened by dunya. We have become obsessed with more — more wealth, more fame, more recognition. And in chasing “more,” we have lost the one thing that truly matters — the pleasure of Allah. This is the age of spiritual bankruptcy. Our souls are starving, and we are feeding them with glitter. The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said: “If the son of Adam had a valley full of gold, he would like to have two valleys, and nothing will fill his mouth except dust…” (Bukhari & Muslim). This world will never satisfy you. No matter how much you gain, there will always be more to chase, more to envy, more to lose. But when you remember Allah — even if you own nothing — you will feel full. Because He is Al-Ghani, the Self-Sufficient, and whoever connects with Him becomes content. The Prophet ﷺ also said: “Take benefit of five before five: your youth before your old age, your health before your sickness, your wealth before your poverty, your free time before you become busy, and your life before your death.” (Hakim) But today, we waste every one of those gifts. We waste youth in sin. Health in laziness. Wealth in arrogance. Time in scrolling. Life in heedlessness. And then, when death comes, we cry, “Send me back, I will do good.” But it will be too late. Let this verse — “Fazkuruni azkurkum” — be your wake-up call. Let it shake you from the inside. Let it make you fall in sujood like never before. You are not too broken to return. You are not too sinful to remember. You are not too far to be embraced by His mercy. The door is still open. The angels still write. Your soul still breathes. So return. Remember Allah like he deserves — in silence, in sujood, in tears, in joy, in struggle, in every moment. Remember Him when your heart is heavy. Remember him when no one understands. Remember him in the dark nights when the world sleeps and your soul wants to cry. And He, the Most Merciful, will remember you. By name. With honour. Among angels. Because this world will forget you. People will leave. Wealth will vanish. Beauty will fade. But your dhikr will remain in the records of the heavens. And when you stand on the Day of Judgment, and your deeds are brought forth, what will matter most is whether your tongue remembered your Lord, whether your heart longed for Him, whether your life testified, “I knew my Rabb, and I remembered Him in every state. فَاذْكُرُونِي أَذْكُرْكُمْ وَاشْكُرُوا لِي وَلَا تَكْفُرُونِ.So remember Me; I will remember you. And be grateful to Me, and do not deny Me. Let this verse not just sit on your wall or phone — let it live in your heart, let it guide your day, let it shape your choices. And when your time comes to meet Him — may He say, “This is My servant who remembered Me when the world forgot, who thanked Me when others complained, who loved Me when others loved the dunya. Welcome, O soul that is at peace.”
(The author is a teacher by profession. The views, opinions and conclusions expressed in this article are those of the author and aren’t necessarily in accord with the views of “Kashmir Horizon”)
