Surah Al-Ma'arij (The Ascending Stairways) — Full Text
Ayah 1
سَأَلَ سَآئِلٌۢ بِعَذَابٍ وَاقِعٍ
A supplicant asked for a punishment bound to happen1
This surah opens with a dramatic scene — someone actually asked for the punishment to come. Most scholars say this refers to one of the Quraysh leaders, possibly al-Nadr ibn al-Harith, who mockingly challenged Prophet Muhammad by saying something like, 'If this message is really from God, then rain down stones on us!' It was a taunt, a dare born out of arrogance. The word 'sa'ala' (asked) carries this tone of demanding or calling for something, and what they were calling for was nothing less than divine punishment. It's a reminder of how overconfidence can make people challenge the very thing that would destroy them.
Ayah 2
لِّلْكَـٰفِرِينَ لَيْسَ لَهُۥ دَافِعٌ
To the disbelievers; of it there is no preventer.
Here's the sobering follow-up — that punishment they so casually demanded? When it comes for the disbelievers, absolutely nothing can stop it. No wealth, no status, no connections, no clever argument will serve as a shield. The Arabic 'dafi' means a repeller or preventer, and the verse is crystal clear that no such thing exists against God's decree. Think about how we sometimes assume our resources or influence can get us out of anything — this ayah dismantles that illusion entirely.
Ayah 3
مِّنَ ٱللَّهِ ذِى ٱلْمَعَارِجِ
[It is] from Allāh, owner of the ways of ascent.
Now we learn where this punishment originates — from Allah, the Lord of the Ways of Ascent. The word 'Ma'arij' gives this surah its name, and it refers to stairways or ascending pathways. Some scholars interpret these as the levels through which angels ascend to God, while others see it as referring to God's exalted degrees of grandeur. Either way, it paints a picture of unimaginable majesty and elevation. The One sending this punishment isn't some limited being — He is the Lord of pathways that stretch across dimensions we can barely conceive of.
Ayah 4
تَعْرُجُ ٱلْمَلَـٰٓئِكَةُ وَٱلرُّوحُ إِلَيْهِ فِى يَوْمٍ كَانَ مِقْدَارُهُۥ خَمْسِينَ أَلْفَ سَنَةٍ
The angels and the Spirit [i.e., Gabriel] will ascend to Him during a Day the extent of which is fifty thousand years.
This is one of those verses that really stretches your imagination. The angels and the Spirit — usually understood as the Angel Jibril due to his special status — ascend to God in a day whose measure is fifty thousand years by our reckoning. Now, scholars have discussed whether this is literal or metaphorical, conveying the sheer vastness of divine scale. Some say this refers to the length of the Day of Judgment itself, while others say it describes the distance of the angelic ascent. What's undeniable is the message — God operates on a scale that dwarfs anything we can comprehend. Our entire concept of time is just a tiny fraction of His reality.
Ayah 5
فَٱصْبِرْ صَبْرًا جَمِيلًا
So be patient with gracious patience.
After that cosmic panorama, God turns to the Prophet with something deeply personal — just be patient, and make it a beautiful patience. The phrase 'sabran jamila' is powerful because it doesn't just mean enduring hardship; it means doing so with grace, without complaint, without bitterness. This was revealed during a time when the Prophet faced relentless mockery and persecution in Makkah. The instruction applies to all of us too — when life gets unbearable, the goal isn't just to survive it, but to carry yourself through it with dignity. Beautiful patience is patience without losing your character.
Ayah 6
إِنَّهُمْ يَرَوْنَهُۥ بَعِيدًا
Indeed, they see it [as] distant,
The disbelievers looked at the warnings about the Day of Judgment and thought it was impossibly far away — if it was even real at all. The word 'ba'idan' means distant or remote, and it captures that casual dismissiveness people have toward consequences they can't immediately see. It's human nature, honestly — we tend to discount anything that isn't right in front of us. Future consequences feel abstract, almost fictional, when you're caught up in the present moment.
Ayah 7
وَنَرَىٰهُ قَرِيبًا
But We see it [as] near.
But God's perspective is fundamentally different — He sees that Day as near. And when the Creator of time itself says something is near, that carries a weight our limited perception can't fully grasp. This contrast between human and divine perspective is striking. To God, who is beyond time, fifty thousand years is nothing. It's a gentle but firm correction — just because you can't see it coming doesn't mean it isn't close. Every single day that passes brings it nearer, whether we acknowledge it or not.
Ayah 8
يَوْمَ تَكُونُ ٱلسَّمَآءُ كَٱلْمُهْلِ
On the Day the sky will be like murky oil,1
Now the surah begins painting the scene of that Day, and the imagery is terrifying. The sky — that vast, beautiful canopy we look up at every day — will become like molten metal, like heated copper or brass. Imagine looking up and instead of blue sky and clouds, you see a churning, glowing ceiling of liquid metal. The familiar will become utterly unrecognizable. Everything you took for granted about the world, even the sky above your head, will be transformed beyond recognition. This is the Quran's way of telling you that the Day of Judgment is a complete reset of reality as you know it.
Ayah 9
وَتَكُونُ ٱلْجِبَالُ كَٱلْعِهْنِ
And the mountains will be like wool,1
And the mountains — those massive, immovable symbols of permanence and stability — will become like fluffed wool. Picture the most solid, heavy thing you can think of, and then imagine it dissolving into something as light and scattered as colored wool blown by the wind. Throughout the Quran, mountains are used as examples of firmness, yet on that Day even they won't hold together. If the mountains can't maintain themselves, what chance does human arrogance have? The verse strips away every illusion of permanence we cling to in this world.
Ayah 10
وَلَا يَسْـَٔلُ حَمِيمٌ حَمِيمًا
And no friend will ask [anything of] a friend,
Here's where it gets deeply personal. On that Day, no close friend will even bother to ask about another close friend. The Arabic word 'hamim' refers to an intimate, warm companion — someone you'd normally do anything for. But the terror of that Day is so overwhelming that every single person will be consumed by their own fate. Think about your closest relationships right now, the people you'd take a bullet for — on that Day, self-preservation will override every bond. It's not cruelty; it's the sheer weight of what's at stake.
Ayah 11
يُبَصَّرُونَهُمْ ۚ يَوَدُّ ٱلْمُجْرِمُ لَوْ يَفْتَدِى مِنْ عَذَابِ يَوْمِئِذٍۭ بِبَنِيهِ
They will be shown each other. The criminal will wish that he could be ransomed from the punishment of that Day by his children.
They'll be able to see each other — that's the heartbreaking part. It's not that they won't recognize their loved ones; they will. But the criminal, the one who lived in sin, will desperately wish he could ransom himself from that Day's punishment by offering up his own children. His own children. Let that sink in. The most precious thing a person has in this world, the people they would normally sacrifice everything to protect — in that moment of absolute terror, even they become bargaining chips. This verse reveals the true depth of horror awaiting those who rejected the truth.
Ayah 12
وَصَـٰحِبَتِهِۦ وَأَخِيهِ
And his wife and his brother
The desperate bargaining continues — the person would offer up their spouse and their brother too. These are the people who formed the innermost circle of your life, your partner and your sibling. In pre-Islamic Arab culture especially, brotherhood was one of the strongest bonds in society; your brother was your ally, your defender, your blood. And your spouse — the person who shared your most intimate life. Yet on that Day, a person would throw all of them into the fire if it meant saving themselves. The verse builds layer by layer to show the totality of that desperation.
Ayah 13
وَفَصِيلَتِهِ ٱلَّتِى تُـْٔوِيهِ
And his nearest kindred who shelter him.
Now it extends even further — the sinner would offer up their entire extended family, the kindred who sheltered and protected them throughout their life. The Arabic 'fasilatihi' refers to your broader clan, the people who gave you belonging and identity. In Arabian society, your tribe was everything — it was your safety net, your reputation, your survival. The person who would have gone to war for their clan would now hand them all over without a second thought. That's the kind of fear the Day of Judgment inspires — it doesn't just break bonds, it obliterates them.
Ayah 14
وَمَن فِى ٱلْأَرْضِ جَمِيعًا ثُمَّ يُنجِيهِ
And whoever is on earth entirely [so] then it could save him.
And here's the climax of this escalation — the sinner would offer every single person on the entire earth if it could save them. Every human being who ever lived, all offered as ransom. The scope is staggering. From children to spouse to brother to clan to literally all of humanity — the desperation spirals outward until it encompasses the whole world. And still, it wouldn't be enough. The verse ends with a conditional — 'then it could save him' — hanging in the air, because the next verse slams the door shut.
Ayah 15
كَلَّآ ۖ إِنَّهَا لَظَىٰ
No!1 Indeed, it is the Flame [of Hell],
Kalla — by no means, absolutely not, never. That one word demolishes every desperate offer that came before it. No ransom will be accepted, period. And then God describes what actually awaits — it is a Flame, a Blaze. The word 'laza' is one of the names or descriptions of Hellfire, and it conveys an intensely burning, flaring fire. After all that buildup of desperate bargaining, the answer is simply and terrifyingly: no. There is no escape, no deal to be made, no price that can be paid. The time for transactions was in this life, through faith and good deeds.
Ayah 16
نَزَّاعَةً لِّلشَّوَىٰ
A remover of exteriors.1
This fire isn't ordinary — it's described as a remover of skin, stripping away the outer layers of a person. The Arabic 'nazza'atan lish-shawa' is viscerally graphic, referring to scalping or peeling away the scalp and extremities. It's deliberately uncomfortable to read because it's meant to be a wake-up call, not a bedtime story. The Quran doesn't describe punishment to be gratuitous — it describes it so that people take the warning seriously while they still have time to change. Sometimes a gentle reminder isn't enough; sometimes you need the full, unfiltered truth.
Ayah 17
تَدْعُوا۟ مَنْ أَدْبَرَ وَتَوَلَّىٰ
It invites he who turned his back [on truth] and went away [from obedience]
And who does this Fire call out to? Those who turned their backs and walked away from the truth. The imagery is striking — the Fire actively 'invites' or 'calls' to the person who deliberately chose to turn away from God's guidance. There's an almost personified quality to it, as if the Hellfire recognizes its inhabitants. The phrase 'turned his back' suggests a conscious, willful rejection — this isn't about someone who never heard the message, but someone who heard it clearly and chose to walk in the opposite direction.
Ayah 18
وَجَمَعَ فَأَوْعَىٰٓ
And collected [wealth] and hoarded.
Two damning characteristics define this person — they collected wealth and then hoarded it. The Arabic 'jama'a fa-aw'a' paints a picture of someone obsessively accumulating and then locking it away, refusing to share or spend in good causes. Wealth itself isn't the problem; the Quran never condemns being wealthy. The problem is making accumulation your purpose, guarding your wealth like a dragon sitting on gold, and refusing to let any of it flow toward those in need. This verse targets a very specific spiritual disease — the worship of material security over everything else.
Ayah 19
۞ إِنَّ ٱلْإِنسَـٰنَ خُلِقَ هَلُوعًا
Indeed, mankind was created anxious:
This is one of the most psychologically insightful verses in the entire Quran. God tells us that human beings were created with an anxious, restless nature — the word 'halu'an' describes someone who is agitated, impatient, and easily destabilized by circumstances. It's not a criticism so much as a diagnosis. You were built this way. That constant anxiety you feel, that restlessness when things aren't going your way — it's part of your factory settings. But as the next few verses will show, it's a condition that can be treated, not a life sentence.
Ayah 20
إِذَا مَسَّهُ ٱلشَّرُّ جَزُوعًا
When evil touches him, impatient,
Here's the first symptom of that anxious nature — when hardship touches a person, they become completely consumed by distress and impatience. The word 'jazu'an' means someone who panics, who falls apart at the first sign of trouble. Think about how you react when something goes wrong — do you spiral? Do you catastrophize? That immediate, overwhelming sense of 'everything is ruined' is exactly what this verse describes. It's the human default mode, and recognizing it is the first step toward rising above it.
Ayah 21
وَإِذَا مَسَّهُ ٱلْخَيْرُ مَنُوعًا
And when good touches him, withholding [of it],
And here's the flip side — when good fortune comes, this same person becomes stingy and withholding. The word 'manu'an' describes someone who blocks and prevents, who clutches their blessings tightly and refuses to share. So the human default is a lose-lose: miserable when things are bad, selfish when things are good. Neither state leads to peace or gratitude. It's a brutally honest mirror — prosperity doesn't make us generous by default; it often makes us more protective and fearful of losing what we have. The Quran is laying out the problem before presenting the solution.
Ayah 22
إِلَّا ٱلْمُصَلِّينَ
Except the observers of prayer -
Now comes the exception — the escape hatch from that anxious, stingy default nature. 'Except those who pray.' Prayer is presented as the fundamental remedy for the human condition described in the previous verses. Not just ritual prayer, but the consistent turning of yourself toward God. When you pray, you're acknowledging that you're not in control, that there's something greater than your anxiety and your greed. It's the beginning of a list of qualities that transform a person from their base nature into something elevated, and it starts with the most basic act of spiritual connection.
Ayah 23
ٱلَّذِينَ هُمْ عَلَىٰ صَلَاتِهِمْ دَآئِمُونَ
Those who are constant in their prayer
It's not enough to pray occasionally or when you feel like it — the verse specifies those who are constant and consistent in their prayer. The Arabic 'da'imun' means perpetual, ongoing, unwavering. This is about building prayer into the architecture of your daily life so that it becomes as natural as breathing. Anyone can pray when they're in crisis — the real transformation comes from praying when things are fine, when you're busy, when you'd rather be doing something else. Consistency is what rewires your anxious nature into something stable and grounded.
Ayah 24
وَٱلَّذِينَ فِىٓ أَمْوَٰلِهِمْ حَقٌّ مَّعْلُومٌ
And those within whose wealth is a known right1
The next quality shifts from spiritual practice to social responsibility — these are people who recognize that their wealth contains a known, designated right that belongs to others. The word 'ma'lum' means known or specified, which scholars connect to obligatory charity like zakat as well as voluntary giving. Notice the framing — it's not described as generosity or charity, but as a 'right.' The poor have a right to a portion of your wealth; it was never entirely yours to begin with. This reframing is revolutionary because it removes the ego from giving — you're not being generous, you're fulfilling an obligation.
Ayah 25
لِّلسَّآئِلِ وَٱلْمَحْرُومِ
For the petitioner and the deprived -
That designated portion goes to two categories — the one who asks and the one who is deprived but doesn't ask. The 'sa'il' is straightforward — someone who openly requests help. But the 'mahrum' is the person suffering in silence, too proud or too broken to ask for help. Recognizing this second group requires awareness and empathy; you have to actually look around you and notice who's struggling. It's easy to help someone who asks — the real test of character is seeking out those who need help but would never say so. This verse demands that your compassion be proactive, not just reactive.
Ayah 26
وَٱلَّذِينَ يُصَدِّقُونَ بِيَوْمِ ٱلدِّينِ
And those who believe in the Day of Recompense
Belief in the Day of Judgment is listed as one of the qualities that saves a person from their anxious, selfish default nature. And it makes perfect sense — when you genuinely believe that you'll stand before God and account for every action, it fundamentally changes how you live. You're less likely to hoard wealth when you know you'll be asked about it. You're less likely to harm others when you know justice is coming. Belief in accountability is one of the most powerful behavioral regulators there is, and the Quran repeatedly ties it to ethical living.
Ayah 27
وَٱلَّذِينَ هُم مِّنْ عَذَابِ رَبِّهِم مُّشْفِقُونَ
And those who are fearful of the punishment of their Lord -
Even with all their good qualities — their prayer, their generosity, their belief — these people still carry a healthy fear of God's punishment. This isn't the paralyzing terror of a neurotic; it's the aware, respectful concern of someone who takes God seriously. They don't assume they've done enough. They don't rest on their laurels or become spiritually complacent. There's a beautiful balance here between hope and fear — they work hard, give generously, pray consistently, and still approach God with humility rather than entitlement.
Ayah 28
إِنَّ عَذَابَ رَبِّهِمْ غَيْرُ مَأْمُونٍ
Indeed, the punishment of their Lord is not that from which one is safe -
And the reason for that fear is stated plainly — the punishment of their Lord is not something anyone can consider themselves safe from. No one has a guaranteed pass. This verse serves as a reality check against spiritual arrogance, that dangerous mindset of 'I'm good, I've got this figured out.' The greatest companions of the Prophet, people far more righteous than most of us could ever dream of being, still lived with this awareness. If they didn't consider themselves safe, what right do any of us have to be complacent? This isn't meant to create despair — it's meant to keep you striving.
Ayah 29
وَٱلَّذِينَ هُمْ لِفُرُوجِهِمْ حَـٰفِظُونَ
And those who guard their private parts
The list continues with guarding one's modesty and chastity. The Arabic 'hurujihim' refers to private parts, and 'hafidhun' means guardians or protectors. Sexual ethics are presented here not as a restriction but as a quality of the people who transcend their base nature. In a world that constantly pushes the idea that restraint is repression, the Quran frames it as a form of self-mastery. Guarding your modesty is presented alongside prayer and charity as one of the defining traits of a spiritually successful person.
Ayah 30
إِلَّا عَلَىٰٓ أَزْوَٰجِهِمْ أَوْ مَا مَلَكَتْ أَيْمَـٰنُهُمْ فَإِنَّهُمْ غَيْرُ مَلُومِينَ
Except from their wives or those their right hands possess,1 for indeed, they are not to be blamed -
The exception is made clear — intimate relations with one's spouse or those whom one's right hand possesses are not blameworthy. This establishes the legitimate channels for fulfilling natural human desires within the framework God has set. The Quran consistently acknowledges that humans have desires and needs — it never pretends otherwise. Instead, it provides a structure within which those needs can be met without spiritual harm. The key principle is that fulfillment within boundaries leads to stability, while fulfillment without boundaries leads to chaos.
Ayah 31
فَمَنِ ٱبْتَغَىٰ وَرَآءَ ذَٰلِكَ فَأُو۟لَـٰٓئِكَ هُمُ ٱلْعَادُونَ
But whoever seeks beyond that, then they are the transgressors -
But whoever seeks beyond those established boundaries — they are the transgressors. The word 'adun' means those who have crossed the line, who have gone beyond what is permissible. The verse draws a clear line: within the boundary, no blame; outside it, transgression. There's no ambiguity here, no gray area being entertained. This directness is actually a mercy — you know exactly where you stand. Modern culture often celebrates pushing every boundary, but the Quran reminds you that some boundaries exist to protect you, not restrict you.
Ayah 32
وَٱلَّذِينَ هُمْ لِأَمَـٰنَـٰتِهِمْ وَعَهْدِهِمْ رَٰعُونَ
And those who are to their trusts and promises attentive.
Trustworthiness and keeping promises — these are listed as essential qualities of the people heading toward Paradise. The words 'amanatihim' and 'ahdihim' cover everything from formal contracts to casual commitments, from the trust people place in you to the promises you make. In practical terms, this means if you say you'll do something, you do it. If someone confides in you, you protect that confidence. If you enter an agreement, you honor it. It sounds simple, but consistent trustworthiness is actually one of the rarest and most valued qualities in any society, then and now.
Ayah 33
وَٱلَّذِينَ هُم بِشَهَـٰدَٰتِهِمْ قَآئِمُونَ
And those who are in their testimonies upright
Standing firm in testimony — this means being honest and unwavering when you're called to bear witness, even when it's inconvenient or dangerous. In the judicial context of early Islam, testimony was crucial, and false testimony could destroy lives. But it extends beyond courtrooms — it's about being someone whose word means something, who doesn't bend the truth to please people or avoid discomfort. Think about how often people shade the truth, tell half-stories, or stay silent when they should speak up. This verse calls for moral courage in an area where most people take the easy way out.
Ayah 34
وَٱلَّذِينَ هُمْ عَلَىٰ صَلَاتِهِمْ يُحَافِظُونَ
And those who [carefully] maintain their prayer:
The list comes full circle back to prayer — those who guard their prayer. It started with prayer in verse 22 and ends with prayer here, creating a beautiful literary frame. The word 'yuhafidhun' means to carefully guard or protect, treating prayer as something precious that needs to be maintained. This repetition isn't redundant; it emphasizes that prayer is both the foundation and the capstone of a righteous life. Everything in between — charity, chastity, honesty, trustworthiness — is held together by a consistent prayer practice. Without it, the whole structure is at risk.
Ayah 35
أُو۟لَـٰٓئِكَ فِى جَنَّـٰتٍ مُّكْرَمُونَ
They will be in gardens,1 honored.
After that detailed list of qualities — prayer, charity, belief, modesty, trustworthiness, honesty — here's the payoff. Those people will be in Gardens, honored and dignified. The word 'mukramun' means honored, treated with dignity and respect. After a life of disciplining themselves, rising above their anxious and selfish nature, guarding their character — they receive the ultimate honor. Notice how the Quran pairs the physical reward of Gardens with the emotional reward of being honored. It's not just a beautiful place; it's a state of being recognized and valued by the Creator Himself.
Ayah 36
فَمَالِ ٱلَّذِينَ كَفَرُوا۟ قِبَلَكَ مُهْطِعِينَ
So what is [the matter] with those who disbelieve, hastening [from] before you, [O Muḥammad],
The scene shifts abruptly back to the disbelievers, and there's almost a tone of bewilderment in the question — so what's wrong with these people who disbelieve, rushing toward you from every direction? This was the actual scene in Makkah — crowds would gather around the Prophet, not to listen sincerely, but to mock and challenge. They would hurry toward him with ridicule, as if his message were entertainment. The rhetorical question exposes the absurdity of their behavior — they rush toward the very messenger whose warning they refuse to take seriously.
Ayah 37
عَنِ ٱلْيَمِينِ وَعَنِ ٱلشِّمَالِ عِزِينَ
[To sit] on [your] right and [your] left in separate groups?1
They came from the right and the left, gathering in groups — 'izin' refers to scattered groups or clusters of people. Picture it: the Prophet is speaking, and from every direction, little groups are forming, whispering, sneering, making a spectacle of their disbelief. It's a very visual, almost cinematic description of organized mockery. The detail of them coming from both sides suggests they're surrounding him, creating a hostile environment from every angle. Yet the Prophet stood firm in the middle of all of it, delivering his message despite being completely outnumbered.
Ayah 38
أَيَطْمَعُ كُلُّ ٱمْرِئٍ مِّنْهُمْ أَن يُدْخَلَ جَنَّةَ نَعِيمٍ
Does every person among them aspire to enter a garden of pleasure?
Here's the core of their delusion — does every single one of them really expect to enter a Garden of Delight? The question drips with incredulity. These people rejected the Prophet, mocked the message, refused to pray or give charity or guard their character — and yet somehow they assumed they'd get the same reward as the believers? It's the ultimate entitlement, the idea that Paradise is a given rather than something earned through faith and effort. This attitude isn't limited to seventh-century Makkah — you see it anytime someone assumes the best outcome without putting in the work.
Ayah 39
كَلَّآ ۖ إِنَّا خَلَقْنَـٰهُم مِّمَّا يَعْلَمُونَ
No! Indeed, We have created them from that which they know.1
God's response is blunt — absolutely not. And then He reminds them of something they already know but conveniently forget: We created them from what they know. This is a reference to the humble origins of every human being — created from a drop of fluid, from dust, from nothing. The people strutting around with such arrogance were formed from the most humble of substances. If God created you from something so insignificant, what makes you think you can dictate terms to Him? It's a demolition of pride at its very foundation.
Ayah 40
فَلَآ أُقْسِمُ بِرَبِّ ٱلْمَشَـٰرِقِ وَٱلْمَغَـٰرِبِ إِنَّا لَقَـٰدِرُونَ
So I swear by the Lord of [all] risings and settings1 that indeed We are able
God swears an oath — by the Lord of the easts and the wests — affirming His absolute power. The plural 'easts and wests' likely refers to the multiple rising and setting points of the sun throughout the year, or it could encompass the vastness of all directions. Either way, it's an assertion of total cosmic authority. And what is He affirming? That He is fully capable of replacing these arrogant disbelievers with people better than them. The threat is real — if these people refuse the message, God doesn't need them. He can start over with a better generation entirely.
Ayah 41
عَلَىٰٓ أَن نُّبَدِّلَ خَيْرًا مِّنْهُمْ وَمَا نَحْنُ بِمَسْبُوقِينَ
To replace them with better than them; and We are not to be outdone.
He can replace them with better people, and no one can outrun Him or prevent Him from doing so. The word 'masbuqin' means to be outpaced or outmaneuvered — God is saying that nothing in creation can escape His power or plan. This is simultaneously a warning to the arrogant and a comfort to the believers. To the disbelievers: you are not irreplaceable. To the believers: God's plan will succeed regardless of opposition. History has proven this — the very people who mocked the Prophet were eventually replaced by a generation that transformed the world.
Ayah 42
فَذَرْهُمْ يَخُوضُوا۟ وَيَلْعَبُوا۟ حَتَّىٰ يُلَـٰقُوا۟ يَوْمَهُمُ ٱلَّذِى يُوعَدُونَ
So leave them to converse vainly and amuse themselves until they meet their Day which they are promised -
And then comes this powerful instruction — just leave them to their idle talk and their amusement until they meet the Day they've been promised. There's a calm finality to this verse, almost like God is saying, 'Don't waste your energy on people who've chosen entertainment over truth.' They'll keep chatting, keep joking, keep living as if consequences don't exist — until the Day arrives. The Prophet is being told to step back and let reality be the ultimate argument. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do with someone who refuses to listen is simply wait.
Ayah 43
يَوْمَ يَخْرُجُونَ مِنَ ٱلْأَجْدَاثِ سِرَاعًا كَأَنَّهُمْ إِلَىٰ نُصُبٍ يُوفِضُونَ
The Day they will emerge from the graves rapidly as if they were, toward an erected idol, hastening.1
On that Day, they'll emerge from their graves rushing, as if racing toward stakes or markers — like runners sprinting toward a goal post. The irony is devastating. In this life, they couldn't be bothered to rush toward anything good — toward prayer, toward charity, toward truth. But on that Day, they'll be sprinting whether they want to or not, propelled toward the very judgment they spent their lives denying. The image of emerging from graves captures the totality of resurrection — every human who ever lived, bursting from the earth in a panicked stampede.
Ayah 44
خَـٰشِعَةً أَبْصَـٰرُهُمْ تَرْهَقُهُمْ ذِلَّةٌ ۚ ذَٰلِكَ ٱلْيَوْمُ ٱلَّذِى كَانُوا۟ يُوعَدُونَ
Their eyes humbled, humiliation will cover them. That is the Day which they had been promised.
The surah ends with a haunting final image — their eyes cast down, covered in humiliation. The word 'dhilla' means a deep, pervasive disgrace that engulfs a person completely. These are the same people who held their heads high in arrogance, who looked down on the believers, who swaggered through the streets of Makkah mocking the Prophet. Now their eyes can't even lift from the ground. That is the Day they were promised — the one they laughed about, the one they called 'far off,' the one they dared to come. And it came.