Surah Al-Qamar (The Moon) — Full Text
Ayah 1
ٱقْتَرَبَتِ ٱلسَّاعَةُ وَٱنشَقَّ ٱلْقَمَرُ
The Hour has come near, and the moon has split [in two].1
This surah opens with one of the most dramatic events in the Prophet Muhammad's lifetime — the splitting of the moon. According to multiple authentic narrations, the Quraysh demanded a miracle, and the moon visibly split into two halves before their eyes. The word iqtarabat (has drawn near) refers to the Hour — the Day of Judgment — and by pairing it with the moon splitting, Allah is linking this cosmic sign to the approaching end of times. In Islamic eschatology, the appearance of the Prophet Muhammad himself is considered one of the signs that the final hour is near. So the surah starts with a double shock — the Hour is close, and here's a miraculous proof right in front of you. The brevity of this ayah gives it a punchy, almost headline-like quality that would have stopped any listener in their tracks.
Ayah 2
وَإِن يَرَوْا۟ ءَايَةً يُعْرِضُوا۟ وَيَقُولُوا۟ سِحْرٌ مُّسْتَمِرٌّ
And if they see a sign [i.e., miracle], they turn away and say, "Passing magic."1
And yet — even after witnessing the moon literally split apart — the Quraysh turned away and dismissed it as magic. This is one of the most striking examples of human stubbornness in the entire Quran. You'd think seeing the moon crack in half would settle the debate once and for all, but denial runs deeper than evidence. They called it 'continuing magic' — meaning ongoing sorcery, as if it were just another trick in a long line of illusions. This tells us something profound about the nature of disbelief: it's rarely about a lack of evidence. People who don't want to believe will find a way to explain away even the most extraordinary signs. We see this pattern today too — people can witness something undeniable and still rationalize it away if it threatens their worldview.
Ayah 3
وَكَذَّبُوا۟ وَٱتَّبَعُوٓا۟ أَهْوَآءَهُمْ ۚ وَكُلُّ أَمْرٍ مُّسْتَقِرٌّ
And they denied and followed their inclinations. But for every matter is a [time of] settlement.
Despite their denial and their insistence on following their own whims, Allah makes it clear that every matter has its appointed time of settlement. The Arabic word mustaqarr implies a place or time where something finally comes to rest — like a destination you can't avoid reaching. Their desires might lead them astray for now, but there's a reckoning built into the very fabric of reality. This is a deeply reassuring ayah for believers who watch injustice and arrogance go unchecked — it won't last forever. Every act of denial, every act of oppression, every turned back has a due date. The patience required is real, but so is the promise.
Ayah 4
وَلَقَدْ جَآءَهُم مِّنَ ٱلْأَنۢبَآءِ مَا فِيهِ مُزْدَجَرٌ
And there has already come to them of information that in which there is deterrence.
Allah reminds them that they've already received plenty of information — stories of previous nations that were destroyed for the same kind of arrogance they're displaying. These aren't just bedtime stories; they contain real deterrence, real warnings about what happens when people reject God's messengers. The word za-jar means something that shocks you into stopping, like a sharp rebuke that makes you freeze in your tracks. The Quraysh knew these stories — they'd heard about the floods, the earthquakes, the civilizations wiped off the map. The information was there; the problem was never access to truth but willingness to accept it.
Ayah 5
حِكْمَةٌۢ بَـٰلِغَةٌ ۖ فَمَا تُغْنِ ٱلنُّذُرُ
Extensive wisdom - but warning does not avail [them].
This ayah calls the Quran itself hikmah — profound wisdom, not just regular knowledge. It's wisdom that reaches completion and perfection, balighah, meaning it hits its mark with full force. And yet, the warnings still don't benefit them. There's a painful irony here — the most perfect, most eloquent, most complete wisdom ever delivered to humanity, and some people just shrug it off. Allah isn't saying the message is flawed; He's saying the audience has chosen to be unreachable. It's like having the world's best medicine available and watching someone refuse to take it.
Ayah 6
فَتَوَلَّ عَنْهُمْ ۘ يَوْمَ يَدْعُ ٱلدَّاعِ إِلَىٰ شَىْءٍ نُّكُرٍ
So leave them, [O Muḥammad]. The Day the Caller1 calls to something forbidding,
After establishing that warnings haven't worked, Allah shifts the scene dramatically — turn away from them, Muhammad, because a Day is coming when the Caller will summon people to something truly terrible. The word nukur here means something horrifying, something so alien and awful that people have no frame of reference for it. This is the transition point of the surah — from the rejection of signs in the present to the inevitable reckoning of the future. The command to turn away isn't defeat; it's confidence. Allah is saying: you've done your part, the message has been delivered, now let the reality of that Day speak for itself.
Ayah 7
خُشَّعًا أَبْصَـٰرُهُمْ يَخْرُجُونَ مِنَ ٱلْأَجْدَاثِ كَأَنَّهُمْ جَرَادٌ مُّنتَشِرٌ
Their eyes humbled, they will emerge from the graves as if they were locusts spreading,
The imagery here is haunting — people will emerge from their graves with downcast, humiliated eyes, looking like locusts swarming in every direction. Think about what a locust swarm looks like — chaotic, directionless, overwhelming in number. That's humanity rising from the dead on the Day of Judgment. The contrast is deliberate — in this life, people walked with pride and arrogance, heads held high. On that Day, their eyes will be cast down in shame and terror. The locust metaphor also captures the sheer helplessness of it all — locusts don't choose where they go; they're driven by forces beyond their control. That's what the disbelievers will experience.
Ayah 8
مُّهْطِعِينَ إِلَى ٱلدَّاعِ ۖ يَقُولُ ٱلْكَـٰفِرُونَ هَـٰذَا يَوْمٌ عَسِرٌ
Racing ahead toward the Caller. The disbelievers will say, "This is a difficult Day."
They'll be racing toward the Caller — not willingly, but compelled, unable to resist the summons. And the disbelievers themselves will admit out loud: this is a difficult Day. The Arabic word 'asir doesn't just mean hard — it means a day of extreme distress, a day where everything is tight and constricted and there's no escape. The fact that they'll be the ones saying it is significant. Right now, they laugh off the warnings. On that Day, the laughter stops and the confession begins. There's no more denial available — reality has become undeniable in the most visceral way possible.
Ayah 9
۞ كَذَّبَتْ قَبْلَهُمْ قَوْمُ نُوحٍ فَكَذَّبُوا۟ عَبْدَنَا وَقَالُوا۟ مَجْنُونٌ وَٱزْدُجِرَ
The people of Noah denied before them, and they denied Our servant and said, "A madman," and he was repelled.
Now the surah begins its powerful tour through history — starting with the people of Nuh (Noah). They denied their messenger and called him a madman. The word majnun (madman) is the same insult the Quraysh hurled at Prophet Muhammad, so there's a direct parallel being drawn. Nuh wasn't just dismissed — he was repelled, pushed away, threatened, and harassed. He preached for 950 years and was met with mockery at every turn. By opening with Nuh's story, Allah is telling the Quraysh: you're not original in your rejection, and you already know how this story ends.
Ayah 10
فَدَعَا رَبَّهُۥٓ أَنِّى مَغْلُوبٌ فَٱنتَصِرْ
So he invoked his Lord, "Indeed, I am overpowered, so help."
After centuries of patient preaching, Nuh finally called out to his Lord with a heartbreaking plea — I am overpowered, so help me. The simplicity of this prayer is what makes it so powerful. No elaborate words, no lengthy supplication — just a broken servant admitting he's reached his limit and asking for divine intervention. There's something deeply relatable about this moment for anyone who's ever felt overwhelmed by the opposition they face for doing the right thing. When you've exhausted every effort and nothing has changed, the only thing left is to turn to Allah with complete vulnerability.
Ayah 11
فَفَتَحْنَآ أَبْوَٰبَ ٱلسَّمَآءِ بِمَآءٍ مُّنْهَمِرٍ
Then We opened the gates of the heaven with rain pouring down
And Allah's response was immediate and overwhelming — He opened the gates of the sky and poured down water like never before. The phrase 'gates of heaven' isn't just poetic; it conveys that the rain came with such force and volume that it was as if barriers in the sky had been removed entirely. This wasn't a storm — this was a deluge beyond anything in human experience. The word munhamir describes water cascading down with relentless, unstoppable force. When Allah answers, He doesn't do it halfway. Nuh asked for help, and Allah responded by reshaping the entire world.
Ayah 12
وَفَجَّرْنَا ٱلْأَرْضَ عُيُونًا فَٱلْتَقَى ٱلْمَآءُ عَلَىٰٓ أَمْرٍ قَدْ قُدِرَ
And caused the earth to burst with springs, and the waters met for a matter already predestined.
It wasn't just rain from above — the earth itself burst open with springs gushing from below. Water came from every direction, from the sky and from the ground, all converging in a cataclysm that had been divinely ordained. The phrase 'for a matter already predestined' tells us this wasn't random — it was decreed, planned, and executed with divine precision. The meeting of waters from above and below represents total, inescapable judgment. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no high ground that could save you from a flood that came from everywhere at once.
Ayah 13
وَحَمَلْنَـٰهُ عَلَىٰ ذَاتِ أَلْوَٰحٍ وَدُسُرٍ
And We carried him on a [construction of] planks and nails,
In the middle of this cosmic catastrophe, Allah carried Nuh on an ark made of simple planks and nails — dhusurin wa dusur in Arabic, emphasizing the basic, humble construction materials. This is a beautiful contrast — the most advanced civilizations of the time couldn't save themselves, but a simple wooden vessel held together with nails preserved the faithful. The message is clear: it's not the sophistication of your resources that saves you; it's whether Allah's protection is with you. A raft with God's blessing outperforms a fortress without it.
Ayah 14
تَجْرِى بِأَعْيُنِنَا جَزَآءً لِّمَن كَانَ كُفِرَ
Sailing under Our observation as reward for he who had been denied.
That ark sailed under Allah's watchful eyes — directly under His observation and care. The phrase 'before Our eyes' is one of the most intimate expressions of divine protection in the Quran. It means God was watching over every moment of that journey through the flood. And the reason? As a reward for the one who had been denied and rejected. Nuh, who was called crazy and pushed away for nearly a millennium, was now being personally escorted to safety by the Creator of the universe. Every insult he endured, every door slammed in his face — it was all being repaid with honor beyond imagination.
Ayah 15
وَلَقَد تَّرَكْنَـٰهَآ ءَايَةً فَهَلْ مِن مُّدَّكِرٍ
And We left it as a sign, so is there any who will remember?
Allah left the story of the flood — and perhaps the ark itself — as a sign for future generations. Archaeological curiosity about the ark has persisted for thousands of years across multiple civilizations, and the story of the great flood appears in cultures worldwide. But the real question Allah asks is devastating in its simplicity: is there anyone who will take heed? It's not a question of information — everyone knows the story. It's a question of willingness. Are you going to be the person who hears this and actually changes, or just another person who nods along and goes back to business as usual?
Ayah 16
فَكَيْفَ كَانَ عَذَابِى وَنُذُرِ
And how [severe] were My punishment and warning.1
This is the first occurrence of a powerful refrain that will repeat throughout the surah — so how was My punishment and My warnings? It's a rhetorical question directed at the Quraysh, essentially saying: you've heard how the story of Nuh ended. The warnings were real. The punishment was real. And the people who dismissed those warnings are gone. It's almost like Allah is asking them to grade His track record — has any nation that was warned and refused ever gotten away with it? The answer, obviously, is no. The question isn't seeking information; it's demanding honest self-reflection.
Ayah 17
وَلَقَدْ يَسَّرْنَا ٱلْقُرْءَانَ لِلذِّكْرِ فَهَلْ مِن مُّدَّكِرٍ
And We have certainly made the Qur’ān easy for remembrance, so is there any who will remember?
And here comes perhaps the most famous refrain of this entire surah — 'We have made the Quran easy for remembrance, so is there anyone who will take heed?' This ayah is remarkable because it pushes back against the idea that divine guidance is too complicated or too distant for ordinary people. Allah Himself made it accessible. The word dhikr here means remembrance, reflection, and admonition all at once. This isn't an academic text meant only for scholars — it's designed to resonate with every human heart. This refrain appears four times in the surah, like a recurring invitation that keeps the door open no matter how many stories of destruction have just been told.
Ayah 18
كَذَّبَتْ عَادٌ فَكَيْفَ كَانَ عَذَابِى وَنُذُرِ
ʿAad denied; and how [severe] were My punishment and warning.
Now the focus shifts to the people of 'Aad — an ancient Arabian civilization known for their incredible physical strength and architectural achievements. They denied the truth, and Allah asks again: how was My punishment and My warnings? The pattern is being established — each story follows the same arc: a messenger comes, the people reject him, punishment follows. By stacking these stories one after another, the surah builds an overwhelming case. It's not one isolated incident — it's a pattern as consistent as gravity. The people of 'Aad were more powerful than the Quraysh, and even they couldn't withstand divine justice.
Ayah 19
إِنَّآ أَرْسَلْنَا عَلَيْهِمْ رِيحًا صَرْصَرًا فِى يَوْمِ نَحْسٍ مُّسْتَمِرٍّ
Indeed, We sent upon them a screaming wind on a day of continuous misfortune,
The punishment that came to 'Aad was a relentless, furious wind on a day of continuous misfortune. The Arabic word sarsar describes a bitterly cold, howling wind — not the gentle desert breeze they were used to, but something violent and sustained. And it didn't let up — it was continuous, nahs mustamirr, meaning it went on and on without mercy. Imagine a wind so powerful and so unceasing that you can't find shelter, can't wait it out, can't do anything but endure it. The people who built the tallest structures of their age were brought to their knees by something they couldn't even see — the air itself turned against them.
Ayah 20
تَنزِعُ ٱلنَّاسَ كَأَنَّهُمْ أَعْجَازُ نَخْلٍ مُّنقَعِرٍ
Extracting the people1 as if they were trunks of palm trees uprooted.
The image here is terrifying — the wind was so powerful it plucked people off the ground like uprooted palm tree trunks. These were the 'Aad, known for being physically massive and imposing. And they were tossed around like dead wood. The comparison to uprooted date-palm trunks is specifically chosen — palm trees are tall, rigid, and when they fall, they crash with finality. That's what happened to the mighty 'Aad. All their physical power, all their impressive builds, meant nothing against a wind sent by Allah. It's a humbling reminder that no amount of physical strength protects you from divine decree.
Ayah 21
فَكَيْفَ كَانَ عَذَابِى وَنُذُرِ
And how [severe] were My punishment and warning.
The refrain returns — how was My punishment and My warnings? Each time it's repeated, it carries more weight because another example has been added to the pile. The question becomes harder and harder to dismiss. After Nuh's flood and 'Aad's wind, the pattern is undeniable. Allah is building His case not through abstract argument but through historical evidence. The Quraysh prided themselves on knowing these ancient stories — their trade routes literally passed through the ruins of these civilizations. They walked over the evidence of God's warnings and still didn't get it.
Ayah 22
وَلَقَدْ يَسَّرْنَا ٱلْقُرْءَانَ لِلذِّكْرِ فَهَلْ مِن مُّدَّكِرٍ
And We have certainly made the Qur’ān easy for remembrance, so is there any who will remember?
And again — We have made the Quran easy for remembrance, so is there anyone who will take heed? The repetition here is intentional and masterful. Each time this refrain appears, it comes after a story of destruction, offering a moment of grace between the hammer blows. It's as if Allah is saying: yes, the stories are heavy, and yes, the consequences were real, but the door to guidance is still wide open. The Quran hasn't been made easy for you to fear it — it's been made easy for you to learn from it and return to your Lord.
Ayah 23
كَذَّبَتْ ثَمُودُ بِٱلنُّذُرِ
Thamūd denied the warning.
Now we come to the story of Thamud — another powerful ancient Arabian civilization, famous for carving elaborate homes directly into the sides of mountains. They too denied the warnings. The word nuthur here is the plural of warning, implying they didn't just reject one message — they rejected multiple warnings, repeatedly and persistently. Thamud had every advantage: wealth, engineering skill, natural fortresses in solid rock. And none of it mattered when they chose to reject their prophet, Salih.
Ayah 24
فَقَالُوٓا۟ أَبَشَرًا مِّنَّا وَٰحِدًا نَّتَّبِعُهُۥٓ إِنَّآ إِذًا لَّفِى ضَلَـٰلٍ وَسُعُرٍ
And said, "Is it one human being1 among us that we should follow? Indeed, we would then be in error and madness.
Thamud's objection was dripping with arrogance — why should we follow a single human being from among us? They couldn't accept that a prophet could be an ordinary person from their own community. In their minds, if God were going to send a messenger, He'd pick someone superhuman, someone obviously different. This same objection has been raised against virtually every prophet in history. It reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of prophethood — the whole point is that the messenger is human, someone you can relate to and learn from. Their accusation of 'error and madness' was just ego dressed up as critique.
Ayah 25
أَءُلْقِىَ ٱلذِّكْرُ عَلَيْهِ مِنۢ بَيْنِنَا بَلْ هُوَ كَذَّابٌ أَشِرٌ
Has the message been sent down upon him from among us? Rather, he is an insolent liar."
They doubled down — has the reminder been sent to him, out of all of us? They couldn't handle the fact that Salih was chosen over them. It's the same jealousy and tribalism that drives so much rejection of truth throughout history. And then the direct insult: he's a liar, an insolent one. The word ashir implies someone who's arrogant and above his station. They projected their own arrogance onto the very person trying to save them. When people can't refute the message, they attack the messenger — it's a tactic as old as humanity itself.
Ayah 26
سَيَعْلَمُونَ غَدًا مَّنِ ٱلْكَذَّابُ ٱلْأَشِرُ
They will know tomorrow who is the insolent liar.
Allah's response is chilling in its calm confidence — they will know tomorrow who the real liar is, who the truly insolent one is. The word ghadan (tomorrow) here doesn't necessarily mean the next literal day; it means very soon, in the near future. There's an almost understated quality to this threat that makes it more ominous, not less. No shouting, no drama — just a quiet promise that reality is about to settle the argument once and for all. When the truth arrives, labels get reassigned permanently.
Ayah 27
إِنَّا مُرْسِلُوا۟ ٱلنَّاقَةِ فِتْنَةً لَّهُمْ فَٱرْتَقِبْهُمْ وَٱصْطَبِرْ
Indeed, We are sending the she-camel as trial for them, so watch them and be patient.1
Allah sent the she-camel as a test for Thamud — a miraculous animal that emerged from solid rock as a sign from God. The word fitnah (trial) is key here — it wasn't just a sign to marvel at; it was a test of their character. Would they honor what God sent, or would they destroy it? Salih was told to watch them and be patient, implying that Allah already knew what they would choose but wanted the test to play out. Sometimes the purpose of a test isn't for God to learn about us — He already knows. It's for us to reveal ourselves to ourselves.
Ayah 28
وَنَبِّئْهُمْ أَنَّ ٱلْمَآءَ قِسْمَةٌۢ بَيْنَهُمْ ۖ كُلُّ شِرْبٍ مُّحْتَضَرٌ
And inform them that the water is shared between them,1 each [day of] drink attended [by turn].
The arrangement was straightforward — the water was to be shared between the she-camel and the people of Thamud, with each group having their designated turn. One day the camel would drink, the next day the people would. It was a simple test of coexistence and respect for God's signs. The phrase 'each drink attended' means everyone knew the schedule; there was no ambiguity. Allah made the test as clear and manageable as possible. All they had to do was share water with one camel and leave it alone. That was it.
Ayah 29
فَنَادَوْا۟ صَاحِبَهُمْ فَتَعَاطَىٰ فَعَقَرَ
But they called their companion,1 and he dared2 and hamstrung [her].
But they called upon their companion — a man from among them — and he took a blade and hamstrung the she-camel, killing it. The brevity of this ayah is striking: he took and he hamstrung. Three words in Arabic to describe the act that sealed an entire civilization's fate. The word fa-ta'ata describes someone who dared to reach out and do the unthinkable. It wasn't an accident or a moment of confusion — it was a deliberate, premeditated act of defiance against God's explicit command. One person committed the act, but the whole community was complicit because they supported and encouraged him.
Ayah 30
فَكَيْفَ كَانَ عَذَابِى وَنُذُرِ
And how [severe] were My punishment and warning.
The refrain again — how was My punishment and My warnings? By now, three stories deep into the surah, this question lands differently. It's no longer just a rhetorical device — it's an accumulating weight. Every time it repeats, another nation's ruins are added to the testimony. The pattern is so consistent that denying it requires willful blindness. Allah is essentially presenting a court case, and each destroyed nation is another piece of evidence entered into the record.
Ayah 31
إِنَّآ أَرْسَلْنَا عَلَيْهِمْ صَيْحَةً وَٰحِدَةً فَكَانُوا۟ كَهَشِيمِ ٱلْمُحْتَظِرِ
Indeed, We sent upon them one shriek [i.e., blast from the sky], and they became like the dry twig fragments of an [animal] pen.
Thamud's end came as a single thunderous blast — one sayhah, one devastating shout or explosion from the sky, and they were reduced to dry, broken twigs like the kind a fence builder would use. The comparison is devastatingly specific — hasheem al-muhtazir refers to the dry, crumbled plant material that people would gather to patch fences. That's what the mighty Thamud became — debris, filler, something you'd step over without a second thought. From a civilization that carved homes into mountains to fence scraps, all from a single blast. The speed and totality of it is meant to terrify.
Ayah 32
وَلَقَدْ يَسَّرْنَا ٱلْقُرْءَانَ لِلذِّكْرِ فَهَلْ مِن مُّدَّكِرٍ
And We have certainly made the Qur’ān easy for remembrance, so is there any who will remember?
Once more — We have made the Quran easy for remembrance, so is there anyone who will take heed? This is the third time this refrain has appeared, and each occurrence feels more urgent. After Nuh, after 'Aad, after Thamud — the invitation to reflect remains open. The beauty of this refrain is that it never changes, even as the stories grow more intense. No matter how severe the destruction described, Allah's mercy keeps extending the same offer. The Quran isn't a locked door; it's one that keeps swinging open, waiting for someone to walk through.
Ayah 33
كَذَّبَتْ قَوْمُ لُوطٍۭ بِٱلنُّذُرِ
The people of Lot denied the warning.
Now we arrive at the people of Lut (Lot) — another community that rejected the warnings of their prophet. Lut was sent to the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, communities infamous for their open transgression and moral corruption. By this point in the surah, the listener already knows the pattern — denial, then destruction. But each story has its own details, its own specific horrors and lessons. The people of Lut were warned, just like everyone before them, and they made the same fatal choice.
Ayah 34
إِنَّآ أَرْسَلْنَا عَلَيْهِمْ حَاصِبًا إِلَّآ ءَالَ لُوطٍ ۖ نَّجَّيْنَـٰهُم بِسَحَرٍ
Indeed, We sent upon them a storm of stones, except the family of Lot - We saved them before dawn.
Their punishment was a storm of stones — hasiban, a barrage of pelting rocks that rained down on them from above. The only exception was Lut's family, who were saved and guided out by dawn. The word sahar (pre-dawn) is precise — they were evacuated in the last dark hours before morning, and the punishment arrived with the light. There's something poignant about the timing — dawn is usually associated with new beginnings and hope, but for the people of Lut, it brought annihilation. For Lut's family, that same dawn meant salvation.
Ayah 35
نِّعْمَةً مِّنْ عِندِنَا ۚ كَذَٰلِكَ نَجْزِى مَن شَكَرَ
As favor from Us. Thus do We reward he who is grateful.
Their rescue is described as a special favor from Allah — a ni'mah, a grace given specifically because they were grateful. The connection between gratitude and salvation is significant throughout the Quran. Lut's family wasn't saved because they were perfect or because they had some special status — they were saved because they recognized God's blessings and were thankful. This is how Allah rewards those who show gratitude, and it's a powerful lesson for us: gratitude isn't just good manners; it's a lifeline.
Ayah 36
وَلَقَدْ أَنذَرَهُم بَطْشَتَنَا فَتَمَارَوْا۟ بِٱلنُّذُرِ
And he had already warned them of Our assault, but they disputed the warning.
Lut had warned his people about Allah's punishment — batshah, a word that means a sudden, crushing seizure. He told them exactly what was coming. But they disputed the warnings, argued against them, tried to find loopholes and counterarguments. This is the tragedy of willful ignorance — the information was there, the messenger was sincere, and still they chose to debate rather than reform. They treated a life-or-death warning like a philosophical discussion, as if they could argue their way out of divine justice.
Ayah 37
وَلَقَدْ رَٰوَدُوهُ عَن ضَيْفِهِۦ فَطَمَسْنَآ أَعْيُنَهُمْ فَذُوقُوا۟ عَذَابِى وَنُذُرِ
And they had demanded from him his guests, but We obliterated their eyes, [saying], "Taste My punishment and warning."
Then they crossed the ultimate line — they tried to assault Lut's guests, who were actually angels sent in human form. When they demanded access to the guests, Allah blinded them — literally took away their sight. The command 'taste My punishment and My warnings' takes on an immediate, present-tense quality here. They didn't even have to wait for the final destruction; they got an instant preview of divine power when their eyes stopped working. Even in that moment of blindness, they had a chance to realize they were up against something far beyond their understanding. But even blinded, they persisted.
Ayah 38
وَلَقَدْ صَبَّحَهُم بُكْرَةً عَذَابٌ مُّسْتَقِرٌّ
And there came upon them by morning an abiding punishment.
The morning brought a permanent, abiding punishment — 'adhab mustaqirr, meaning a punishment that settled in and didn't leave. By early morning, bukrah, the destruction was complete. There's a grim efficiency to the timeline — they tried to assault the guests at night, were blinded, and by dawn they were destroyed. The word mustaqirr echoes the same root used in ayah 3 about every matter having its settlement. The settlement had arrived. Their account was closed. The punishment wasn't a passing storm — it was final and lasting.
Ayah 39
فَذُوقُوا۟ عَذَابِى وَنُذُرِ
So taste My punishment and warning.
The command is repeated — taste My punishment and My warnings. This repetition within the same story — it appeared just two ayahs earlier — emphasizes the completeness and the justice of what happened. They were warned, they persisted, and now they're experiencing exactly what they were told would happen. The word 'taste' is visceral and personal — it's not something you observe from a distance; it's something you experience with your entire being. There's no buffer, no intermediary between them and the consequence of their choices.
Ayah 40
وَلَقَدْ يَسَّرْنَا ٱلْقُرْءَانَ لِلذِّكْرِ فَهَلْ مِن مُّدَّكِرٍ
And We have certainly made the Qur’ān easy for remembrance, so is there any who will remember?
The fourth and final occurrence of the great refrain — We have made the Quran easy for remembrance, so is there anyone who will take heed? After four devastating stories of destruction — Nuh's flood, 'Aad's wind, Thamud's blast, Lut's storm of stones — this gentle invitation stands in powerful contrast. It's like a hand reaching out after watching a series of catastrophes unfold. The door to guidance hasn't closed, even after all this. The repetition four times feels complete, bookending each major narrative with the same merciful offer. The question hangs in the air, waiting for an answer.
Ayah 41
وَلَقَدْ جَآءَ ءَالَ فِرْعَوْنَ ٱلنُّذُرُ
And there certainly came to the people of Pharaoh warning.
The final historical example arrives — Pharaoh and his people. This is the story the Quraysh would have known best, given the proximity of Egypt and the famous legacy of its rulers. The warnings came to Pharaoh's people too. Allah doesn't even need to elaborate extensively on this story because its broad outlines were already well known to the audience. Just mentioning Pharaoh's people is enough to trigger an entire narrative of arrogance, oppression, and divine retribution.
Ayah 42
كَذَّبُوا۟ بِـَٔايَـٰتِنَا كُلِّهَا فَأَخَذْنَـٰهُمْ أَخْذَ عَزِيزٍ مُّقْتَدِرٍ
They denied Our signs, all of them, so We seized them with a seizure of one Exalted in Might and Perfect in Ability.
They denied every single sign — not just some, but all of them. The emphasis on 'all of them' is deliberate and damning. Pharaoh's people witnessed plague after plague, miracle after miracle — the staff, the parting of the sea, the locusts, the blood — and rejected every single one. So Allah seized them with the grip of the All-Mighty, the Omnipotent. The description of God here as Aziz Muqtadir emphasizes irresistible power. No empire, no army, no throne can withstand the grip of the One who created all power in the first place.
Ayah 43
أَكُفَّارُكُمْ خَيْرٌ مِّنْ أُو۟لَـٰٓئِكُمْ أَمْ لَكُم بَرَآءَةٌ فِى ٱلزُّبُرِ
Are your disbelievers better than those [former ones], or have you immunity in the scriptures?
Now Allah turns directly to the Quraysh with a piercing question — are your disbelievers somehow better than those who were destroyed before? Do you have some special exemption written in the divine scriptures? The question is almost sarcastic in its directness. The Quraysh had no army like Pharaoh's, no physical might like 'Aad, no mountain fortresses like Thamud. If those mightier nations couldn't escape divine punishment, what makes the Quraysh think they'll fare any differently? It's a demolition of whatever false confidence they were carrying.
Ayah 44
أَمْ يَقُولُونَ نَحْنُ جَمِيعٌ مُّنتَصِرٌ
Or do they say, "We are an assembly supporting [each other]"?
Or do they say 'we are a united assembly, we'll help each other against any threat'? The Quraysh did take pride in their unity and their collective strength as a tribe. They controlled Makkah, managed the Kaaba, and were a formidable political and economic force in Arabia. But Allah is exposing the hollowness of that confidence. Collective human strength — no matter how organized or determined — is meaningless against divine decree. Gathering together doesn't help when the One you're opposing created gathering itself.
Ayah 45
سَيُهْزَمُ ٱلْجَمْعُ وَيُوَلُّونَ ٱلدُّبُرَ
[Their] assembly will be defeated, and they will turn their backs [in retreat].1
This is a direct prophecy — their assembly will be defeated, and they will turn their backs and flee. Remarkably, this ayah was revealed in Makkah, years before the Muslims had any military capability at all. At the time, the Muslims were a small, persecuted minority. The idea that the powerful Quraysh would be routed seemed absurd. But it came true at the Battle of Badr, where the Quraysh army fled in disarray despite outnumbering the Muslims roughly three to one. 'Umar ibn al-Khattab reportedly said he didn't fully understand this verse until he saw it unfold at Badr with his own eyes.
Ayah 46
بَلِ ٱلسَّاعَةُ مَوْعِدُهُمْ وَٱلسَّاعَةُ أَدْهَىٰ وَأَمَرُّ
But the Hour is their appointment [for due punishment], and the Hour is more disastrous and more bitter.
But their defeat at Badr isn't even the main event — the Hour itself is their true appointed time, and the Hour will be far more grievous and far more bitter than any earthly defeat. The words adha and amarr convey something more painful and more bitter than anything they've experienced. Badr was devastating for the Quraysh, but it was still a worldly event with worldly parameters. The Day of Judgment operates on an entirely different scale. If a military defeat made them weep, imagine what awaits on a Day when every hidden deed is exposed and every excuse is stripped away.
Ayah 47
إِنَّ ٱلْمُجْرِمِينَ فِى ضَلَـٰلٍ وَسُعُرٍ
Indeed, the criminals are in error and madness.1.
The criminals — the mujrimun — are described as being in dalal and su'ur, meaning error and burning madness. This isn't just about the afterlife; it describes their current state as well. There's a real sense in which rejecting truth puts you in a state of confusion and inner burning even in this world. People who are at war with reality are never truly at peace. The word su'ur can refer to both madness and blazing fire, creating a double meaning — they're burning with delusion now and will burn literally later. The inner state mirrors the outer consequence.
Ayah 48
يَوْمَ يُسْحَبُونَ فِى ٱلنَّارِ عَلَىٰ وُجُوهِهِمْ ذُوقُوا۟ مَسَّ سَقَرَ
The Day they are dragged into the Fire on their faces [it will be said], "Taste the touch of Saqar."1
On that Day, they'll be dragged into the Fire on their faces — not walking upright, not even stumbling, but dragged face-first. The humiliation is total. And the command rings out: taste the touch of Saqar — a specific name for one of the levels of Hellfire. The word massa (touch) is almost cruelly understated — as if the Fire is just touching them, just making contact, and even that is unbearable. The entire image is designed to be the absolute inverse of dignity. Those who walked with arrogance will be dragged in disgrace. The physical position mirrors the spiritual reality they chose.
Ayah 49
إِنَّا كُلَّ شَىْءٍ خَلَقْنَـٰهُ بِقَدَرٍ
Indeed, all things We created with predestination.
This ayah is a profound theological statement — everything We created, We created it with precise measure. The word qadar means predetermined measure, exact proportion, deliberate design. Nothing in the universe is random or accidental. From the orbits of planets to the fall of a leaf, everything operates within divinely set parameters. This ayah comes right after descriptions of punishment, and its placement is significant — even the consequences people face aren't arbitrary. They're measured, proportional, and just. Allah doesn't punish randomly; He does so with the same precision with which He created the stars.
Ayah 50
وَمَآ أَمْرُنَآ إِلَّا وَٰحِدَةٌ كَلَمْحٍۭ بِٱلْبَصَرِ
And Our command is but one, like a glance of the eye.
And Allah's command — when He decides something — is instantaneous. It happens like the twinkling of an eye, or even faster. The word lamh means the quickest glance imaginable, and the comparison to basar (the eye) makes it even more vivid. There's no bureaucracy in divine action, no processing time, no delay between decision and execution. When Allah says 'Be,' it is. This ayah puts all of human planning and scheming into perspective. We labor over our plans for months and years. Allah's command takes less time than it takes your eye to blink. That's the power differential between Creator and creation.
Ayah 51
وَلَقَدْ أَهْلَكْنَآ أَشْيَاعَكُمْ فَهَلْ مِن مُّدَّكِرٍ
And We have already destroyed your kinds,1 so is there any who will remember?
A direct address to the Quraysh — We have already destroyed people like you before. The word ashya'akum means 'your kinds' or 'your counterparts' — people who behaved exactly the way you're behaving now. The question follows: so is there anyone who will receive admonition? Allah is making it personal. This isn't about ancient history happening to distant strangers — it's about people who share your exact mindset, your exact objections, your exact arrogance. If seeing yourself reflected in destroyed nations doesn't wake you up, what will? History isn't just a record of the past; it's a preview of what awaits those who repeat its mistakes.
Ayah 52
وَكُلُّ شَىْءٍ فَعَلُوهُ فِى ٱلزُّبُرِ
And everything they did is in written records.
Everything they ever did is recorded in the Scriptures — the zubur, the written records. Not a single action, whether monumental or trivial, has been lost or overlooked. This is the divine accounting system, and it's flawless. In an age before surveillance cameras and digital records, the idea that every deed was being meticulously written down was both terrifying and sobering. Today, we live in a world where nearly everything is tracked and recorded digitally, so the concept feels less abstract — but Allah's record preceded all of it and is infinitely more comprehensive.
Ayah 53
وَكُلُّ صَغِيرٍ وَكَبِيرٍ مُّسْتَطَرٌ
And every small and great [thing] is inscribed.
And to drive the point home — every small thing and every large thing is written down. Nothing escapes the record. Not the whispered insult, not the secret charity, not the fleeting thought entertained. The Arabic mustatir means something firmly inscribed, permanently recorded. This ayah eliminates any hope that small sins will slide or small good deeds will be forgotten. Everything counts. For the wrongdoer, this is a warning — there's no such thing as getting away with it. For the believer doing quiet, unseen good, this is comfort — nothing you do for Allah's sake is ever wasted.
Ayah 54
إِنَّ ٱلْمُتَّقِينَ فِى جَنَّـٰتٍ وَنَهَرٍ
Indeed, the righteous will be among gardens and rivers,
After all the destruction, all the warnings, all the historical devastation — the surah pivots to the reward of the righteous. The muttaqin, those who were conscious of Allah, will be in gardens with rivers flowing through them. The contrast is intentional and necessary. The surah doesn't end on destruction; it ends on hope. Gardens and rivers — in the Arabian desert context, this was the ultimate image of paradise, abundance, and life. After pages of fire and wind and floods and stones, we arrive at gardens. This is the Quran's way — it warns, but it always, always offers the alternative.
Ayah 55
فِى مَقْعَدِ صِدْقٍ عِندَ مَلِيكٍ مُّقْتَدِرٍۭ
In a seat of honor near a Sovereign, Perfect in Ability.1
The surah closes with the most extraordinary promise of all — a seat of honor, in the presence of a Sovereign who is Perfect in Ability. The word maq'ad sidq means a seat of truthfulness, sincerity, and honor — a place you genuinely deserve, earned through genuine faith. And it's near — 'inda — a King who is Muqtadir, the same attribute of overwhelming power used to describe how He seized Pharaoh's people. The same power that crushed the arrogant will embrace the faithful. That's the final takeaway of Surah Al-Qamar: the power of Allah that terrifies the denier is the exact same power that honors and protects the believer. Your relationship with that power depends entirely on the choices you make.