tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924004877915121282024-03-05T22:11:05.919+03:00The Voice That Learned To SpeakHayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.comBlogger509125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-27975172976371781312017-09-10T00:16:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.664+03:00Harud<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture Courtesy: facebook.com/Kashmir.pictures<br />http://static.ibnlive.in.com/ibnlive/pix/ibnhome/fallindiart10.jpg</span></td></tr>
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I was supposed to be coerced into liking Autumn before Winter, followed by Spring and then, ugh - Summer - neither of us liked the latter. You disappeared before sharing Autumn with me. Now every picture of Autumn everywhere I will see, will burn me like your <i>Chinar </i>trees in <i>Harud</i>.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-27666686769511106992017-08-30T01:47:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.659+03:00Fighting the hole<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I spread my hands before me, with Your many names upon my lips fervently hung over Your attributes of Forgiveness, Giving, Listening, Answering, Knowing, Seeing, Hearing, All Ableness, and so much more... I fixate on the spot that looks like a hole. I see around that hole blessings abound; so many that I cannot count them one by one in thanks... but, I thank You for each and every one of them as only You would Know Best and hopefully Accept. But, the eyes... these woefully-possessed-as-if-uncontrollable-eyes keep getting drawn back to that one speck, which is not a mole, and keep looking at it as a black hole. It seems to have a fluctuating depth of hollow never-endingness or perhaps just a slight bend on the road of many gifts, depends on which state of peace the heart is in. As the soul fervently focuses on thanks and gratitude and humility, the eyes are perturbed by whispers of the devil... the nafs... the humanness? Which, I'll never know. But as the focus comes upon it, in all it's ebbs and flows, all it keeps looking at is that one blessing I could not get to hold on to. It came into my life plenty of times, but only to tempt me, make me weak, ungrateful, and so frustrated... because I could not hold on to it. It keeps piercing into the abyss trying to pull itself out of it, and in the struggle of the jump and the pull, it tires itself of the screams that are it's own recriminations. It slumps into the wet mess of it's own tears and continues thanking The All Knowing Able One Who has Made me who I am, to live the tests that have been written down for me, and hope not to fail, and hope to keep surfacing back up with thanks... For if the gratitude were to be lost, so would all hope of sanity and a blessed Eternity. Ya Ar Rahman Ar Raheem, Ya Ghafoor Ar Kareem - please Hold me as I feel like I am drowning... If You Save me not, I will drown myself in my tears. Please Hush my hankerings and Take me away from my human needs and wants that will suffocate me without Your Intervention. My salvation lies only in Your Holding me and Sufficing me. I plead You to Hold me and Suffice me. Ameen, Ya Dhall Jalaali Wal Ikram.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Written to <i>Sange Saboor </i>playing out in the background. My Lord being my only Pillar of Patience whereupon I stop to cry.</span>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-86601044569606976052017-08-24T01:00:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:12.254+03:00Follow the OneHave you struggled like so? When enough was too much and too much not enough? When this said don't and that said go for it? The places you reached were not there yet and the places you still had to reach had long been gone. You put it in your mouth but there was nothing to chew on, and you kept chewing and chewing and chewing but there was nothing but bile in your throat and polluted air seeping silently into your lungs. Have you ever felt like running with the wind in your hair, everything passing you by, but when you look down at your feet your knees refuse to budge and your back is paralysed. When your arms were picking up the weight of the world but when you looked down at your hands they were blue and white, empty and cold. Do your veins play hide and seek with the eyes or does the needle easily pass through? Does the air feel too thin to breathe or is it too heavy that you feel suffocated? The hair on your head stands sometimes while you wish it stroked your back like silk, and hers lay in a tangled silky knotted mess when she tried to curl it up into curls that you thought were a mess. Was that the sound of someone casually walking into your heart or was that the door you had banged shut, being rattled and torn by all those you refused to let in; why do they cause you such stress, what is it that puts you under such inexplicable duress? The eyes keep looking at beauty while beauty its own tale keeps spinning on. It pays a visit to their doorstep, goes into all houses and surrenders itself to the horizons and valley of the world, but every time it hears you seek it in yourself it leaves the mirror blank and the heart distressed. Do you like the colour of all things around you? Do they tell you of wonders galore? Your ears listen to everyone speak but no one can hear the thud of voices that tingle and tangle within your minds silent screams. The mouth refuses to move and the tongue remains chained. The mouth begins to speak but the voice cannot exclaim. So follow the words of The One. Leave behind all else, and everyone. Many moons have risen and fallen all at the command of The One. Your sun and shade too will one day at His direction come; insha'Allah - Ameen.<br />
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* Inspired by <i>Follow the Sun</i>, by Caroline Pennel, from the movie <i>To the Bone</i><br />
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<br />Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-45990634556241390472017-08-22T21:41:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.721+03:00Aspiring to not plead, but be offered...The weary pendulum keeps swaying back and forth in between making a resolute decision one day and having debilitating questions foam back up to the point of drowning me on another. Words spoken keep coming back of their own accord; haunting me. It doesn't make sense for the one to have said such things, albeit in only a half attentive part sleepy state, but for one to simply disappear mid-throbbing-conversation...? It is a whole another ask of me to leave where one is not wanted. But, to leave where one was assured they are dearly wanted... this, this is an unkind thing to be asked to do.<br />
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<i>'Are you trying to figure out how to do this, or are you precariously bordering on an unappetising form of stalking?'</i><br />
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Surely making dua'as for a person's well being absolves me or my actions of being saddled with a negative label. If only the road blocks would be removed, and the walls of silence pierced... Perhaps then some answers could be found to appease the roaring ravaged mind that is left in the wake of this storm. The soul refuses to back down and sit in silence. Amidst prayer it needs to also do all it can before it must accept failure and lay down to rest all it's arms, in order to find some semblance of peace.<br />
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<i>''You should not have to plead, you deserve to be offered.'' </i>This keeps playing back in my mind, over and over on repeat.<br />
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Inn Allaaha Ma'as Saabireen. Allahu Musta'an. Allahumma Antas Salaam.<br />
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''Allah is the Protector of those who believe. He brings them out from darkness into light.''<br />
(Al-Quran 2:257)<br />
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''Oh Allah, place within my heart light, and upon my tongue light, and within my ears light, and within my eyes light, and place behind me light and in front of me light and above me light and beneath me light. O Allah, Bestow upon me light.''<br /><br />Ameen.<br /><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-61820894074328989692017-08-21T17:08:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:12.140+03:00Tether Ye Were Not It SeemsThe real test begins when you pine in silence, in between prayer, your own audience, and your tears. When you console yourself that The One Who Listens to all, can hear you. When you pray ever more fervently that He will Help you through this because He has a Plan better for you than you can understand. As you traverse the lanes of memories that will be evoked at random, of words shared, of likes and dislikes, of shared emotions and opinions and wishes, every stroke of that uninvited memory will grate at your patience and hankerings. You will break, shatter, crumble, moan, and hold yourself. You will try to breathe in and breathe out as calmly as the moment will allow it, and not let yourself remain on the ground. You will pick yourself back up again. You know how to do this. Life has been a constant practice of doing just this. There are so many compartments that have been designated to demons conquered. You know you can do this. Yes, there will be times of weakness, when questions will haunt you and make you wonder what it was that you could have done otherwise. Yes, there will be times of sadness when you will imagine how beautiful things could have been if only you were not hoping on things alone, but you are. Hoping on things alone. And alone, you can only do so much. So it is best to keep letting go of what has left you. Chasing it is every kind of painful and will leave you ever more so profoundly alone. Hug your soft covers, your pillows, your cushions and be thankful for having these blessings. The blessings that many others don't. So what if they aren't as warm as an actual body. So what if they don't hold you back. At least they offer some comfort as opposed to none. The privacy of your room allows you to relive things in peace. It allows you to cry and pray and beg your Maker in ways where you are free to turn your insides out and pour your grief out to Him unabashedly. Be grateful that your Maker permits you to use His words, His praises, His names, and reach out to Him. In grief many have lost their way. Be grateful you know how to respond to your grief. You are alone, but never so without Him being with you always. He may not be the body that your body was made to crave. But He is your Maker and He will bring you out of this new pain. He will help you fashion a new compartment for this fresh loss and He will Help you get through the prickly path where the roses of words shared will tempt and entice you with their scents, as well as prick you with the thorns of their impermanence, their transient visit into your life; Brief, oh so unreal, surreal, call it whatever you may, but that's what it was. The roses were never meant for eternity. Let the memory of that scent fade away, because if it were meant to stay, it would have found a home within the confines of your precious book, to leave a permanent ink of it's form, or a debris of it's existence, albeit more delicate in it's dried out form, but a presence nonetheless. It's existence would have been proof of it's commitment, and you have nothing but static that typed itself out via a format of numbers and words. It was a binary, a code... human? No one knows because experience tells you many humans come in the most mechanical forms just to short circuit your entire being, with intentions of passing time where you are the toy that gathered their attention for now. You are not a tether for no camel. Only Allah Knows what you are because at most times usually, you are quite a susceptible fool. Your one worthy trait is that at least you can pray. Always be grateful for that. Pray to Him to make you more resilient and more alert to the dangers of those who wish to rouse your heart and feelings with no intentions to stick around and honour you. Honouring things takes more heart and strength of character than what most of this world is capable of offering. So be careful and save yourself before another fall. Your injuries sustained thus far may be plentiful, but you have so much to be grateful for. Just never let go of that. Sabr and Shukr will get you through this life always. Never let go of them. Wash yourself of the pain you feel right now and stand back up in prayer. When your head bows down; weep, and when you rise back up; breathe, and when you are done; savour that moment of inexplicable peace. May He The Most Loving, always be enough for you. Ameen.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-51010703967226105282017-08-19T18:38:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.739+03:00The Interim Betwixt; Real or a Lie?Were you a capricious whim, a fallacy?<br />
Were you an embodiment of my wants and your wants?<br />
Of your comings and goings should I not question your verity?<br />
The chasms of my experience with such emotional feed<br />
is a gaping proof of error of judgements borne of deprived needs.<br />
Time is proof, Time is a salve, Time is testing, <br />
Every second, every minute, every hour.<br />
May the constant questioning of my own sanity<br />
versus a beautiful patience and a belief in all things good,<br />
Yet again, come and sing it's soothing rhyme<br />
allowing the chants and motions to do a slow dance,<br />
and let the heart beat in peace,<br />
always at the behest of it's Maker Infinite.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-51665650531436401982017-08-17T23:00:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.752+03:00The missing Rib?<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">The news keeps telling me there is unrest where you are... My mind thinks about the effects of that, alongside the effects of thoughts of you in my heart here, where it mysteriously pinches and bites. Physically, you nor I can see it. What hurts is knowing that right now in this I am alone. I can pray and find spiritual sanctuary, but my physical form aches to reach out and bridge this distance fast. It wants to walk unruffled, beside the havoc of the strung-out world on display, preciously held within the calm surreal black succour you offered. What you offered may live inside my head for however long it is meant to breathe, as only Allah swt Knows Best. What I beg for, screaming with my insides on fire in my agonising struggle alone, is that promised Mwaddah wa Rahmah, followed by a precious coolness of the eyes, and heart, and mind, and being, insha'Allah ta'Allah. I need more grace than what others see in me, or preach at me. On either ends of that measure I find myself lacking. Take me to him, Ya Allah, whose rib you fashioned me from. My bones wish to be reunited. My being wishes to find home in those arms. My head wishes to rest upon that chest. My heart wishes to hear the synonymous beat. My insides twist with wishes upon wishes not knowing whether this tide will throw itself upon my shore or recede apologetically like all other tides, never to return. One day my shore too will not be left dry. InshaAllah, Ameen.</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-24748918687573801592017-08-14T19:45:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.649+03:00Such a Brief Picking of 'Nuts'<br />
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You saw the crimson in the sky and thought of me... Now I will wipe away tears at any sight of the colour crimson, or a sun setting scene somewhere, anywhere, or just a static bleeding horizon in real life or pictures. Were the raven-crows flying away from it, or into it? This shall remain a mystery, as shall knowing whether black was actually succour or just a swift and sudden unexpected cloak of painful gloom.</div>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0px;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-40990636390864271002017-08-01T00:27:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.696+03:00Demons of Their Past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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All it took was a picture of you in baby blue and white.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It pierced through the cemented walls<br />
The grave I thought was permanent, shattered open.<br />
Rose back out Alexander the great, <br />
Arousing the hairs on the back of everything alive<br />
To stand up and scream<br />
To brace themselves and shriek in agony<br />
From unwelcome memories.<br />
Go back to sleep please.<br />
Go to Italy, Go back to Germany, <br />
San Francisco, Brazil, Goa, Juhu,<br />
Go where ever it is that love embraces you<br />
And wear that ring proud<br />
It shines so bright<br />
As did the prospect of you and I once<br />
But that was an embryo that was miscarried long ago.<br />
The placenta has been laid down to rest<br />
So now please let the lens of the other <br />
Shoot you in your glamour in privacy<br />
There is no room for this view I have of you<br />
in my suggested feed, on the right, under a post,<br />
or an invite of an add request from another brother.<br />
Go away; I know you never wanted to <br />
I pushed the doors closed and I left you screaming in the dark<br />
But that darkness was all enveloping<br />
And it was a salve that needed to be applied<br />
The scrapes were blistering and the wound was deepening<br />
The pain would never go away so the pill had to be gulped<br />
And years later it seems the effects have begun wearing thing<br />
So I turn to an empty page and scream into this empty night<br />
And tell the song ringing in the background to truly fade away<br />
For Where you are now is of no use to me.<br />
The monsters only know how to run wild<br />
And the torment of years ago needs to rest.<br />
Crushing what was real and breathing<br />
For I am not prepared to have to do it again.<br />
I can’t. You can’t. We can’t. <br />
It was never meant to be<br />
So please take your baby blue and white<br />
And leave my breath alone.<br />
I need to let it all be faded.<br />
No shadows. No etchings. Nothing.<br />
The water will always haunt me<br />
But that is also truly where I find <br />
Some semblance of a salvation.<br />
Ya Allah – You are The Effacer.<br />
Please Cleanse me and Hold Me.<br />
For you I walked away and I desperately<br />
need You to Efface me and Love me!<br />
Ameen.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<img alt="Signature" src="http://guest.mylivesignature.com/259/857C14178BE4C7F295CB67115ED22626.png" /></div>
Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-71950129617776757552017-07-09T12:43:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:12.158+03:00Misunderstandings and GapsSometimes we get so used to having conversations with ourselves that we forget how much gets lost when we don't actually speak all that was in our head to people. What was said out loud and what wasn't becomes a blur and misunderstands happen. Only compassion can heal such slips. Usually of a Divine kind. Us people seldom have such a big heart.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-43214006213109395072017-06-19T09:37:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.707+03:00Grenfell<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">The bottle neck is jammed up, and the breath in my throat is choked. When the deaths of innocent people around us are happening somewhere every day. The bile in one's throat is foaming, as tears incessantly flow. The screams and painful groans up on the highest floor; The man who was blindly running over limp bodies past every floor; the mother who was fawning over her four year old she had to fro</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">m the tenth floor window throw; the father who strapped his lil babe to his back and was pulled away from his bedsheets knotted up together as the only means of escape via this measly makeshift rope; the 24 year old beautiful son who managed to save his mother, carrying her over his back, but his father who had to be left injured behind, and must with the reality of his most-likely death their broken family must now respond to and solemly react; the Syrian refugee brother who made it out safe and had to listen to his younger brother cry until he his last breath had taked; the family of five with two toddlers who made it, but their 6 month old baby sibling remained with daddy and mommy too missing, the snap chat video that had us all shocked as the lady prepared to die and calmly kept chanting to her Maker and said her goodbyes; the hundreds whose stories remain untold, the hundreds whose bodies lie blackened with lungs torn; some 42 people of all ages and genders were found in one room of one flat all dead; the ruthless barbarians and governments around the world, called ISIS Assad Trump or just the token mentally unstable demonic, perhaps just KKK; the selfish and spineless murderers who use guns and bats and vans and parking lots, who bomb mosques and set fire to places of worship or of shopping or where you take kids to buy icecreams; the suicide committing fools who believe in their Devilish Misshapen rules and taint 'Allahu Akbar'; the high on power drone controlling taker of lives in uniform; those who kill about to graduate young ones, and who kill people at concerts, and they kill and rape innocent souls, and some in videos behead, and others get picked up from their homes and at airports before a holiday they were about to go on and instead find themselves incarcerated tortured and bound up in Guantanamo, and hate and anger and bigotry continues to be spewed and Hitler gets reborn and the world isn't even shocked that he is being hailed again, and the Mays Modis Sharifs and the terrorist making machines from the extremists born out of religions of Buddhism, Islam, Christianity, Zionism, put on their masks and shake hands with each other and get pictures taken, and stand with glee shining out of their eyes in front of mysterious globes of tainted light, while innocent people in countries get told they are being barricaded in, and some have to give up their lands and their blood and kin, where countries lose their name, where UN is an acronym that should hang its head in shame, where charities are collected to save people from famine and drought, where malnourished are being born to die, where children are breathing white phosphorus and are questioned about their cries being lies, where fish are dying and eating salmon in becoming unsafe, where Earth's glaciers are drifting and melting while Mars is being eyed and scaled with plans to be cultivated, poachers of lives and the living we are surrounded by, and our only hope lies in beginning to open our own eyes and hearts and start loving and listening and sharing and giving. The bottle neck is jammed up, and the breath in my throat is choked. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">Allahu Musta'an. We ask God for help. </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">Inna lillahi wainna ilaihi rajioon.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-27261840739462380652017-05-07T05:51:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.654+03:00When Everything AchesEvery part of me feels broken, inside out. Heal all of us who are broken, Ya Allah. Only You Know how. Protect us from all that is evil around us. Only You Know what we need saving from. Ameen Ya Rabb Al Ameen.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-72852659453181889962017-03-04T22:24:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:12.172+03:00Fighting DespairWhen I look to the world it brutally crushes my hopes and tells me all about how 'this' isn't possible and 'that' will never happen. Then I remind myself of The Maker of all things and I shout out, ''Ya Lateef! Ya Jabbar! Ya Fattah, iftah alayy! Oh the Most Subtle One, The Compeller, The Opener of all doors and gates, and everything else, please Open up my way! I ask not of the world whose people tell me of all things impossible! I ask You, O Creator of all things, You for Whom nothing is impossible! Please send me that which my heart is too afraid to put into words to ask of You, forever seeking right words and never being able to form them; Please send to me from Your infinite bounties a beautiful patience, contentment, peace, happiness and gratefulness in all forms and things of this life; Please send upon me Your infinite Mercy and Khair; I am your heedless forgetful wanting creation begging You to never Forsake me, and to Fill me up in the places that feel empty and bereft of Your Blessings; Please Hold me close Ya Wudood, The Most Loving, Oh Alllah! Allahumma Ameen.''<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-83268071269033510982017-01-11T10:49:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:12.211+03:00Fake, Flaky, or Forgetful?They speak to you as if they've never spoken to you before. You remember the room, the lighting, the questions, the laughter and everyone else who was present there each time you had met before. They leave you flummoxed. They keep doing it again and gain. You keep smiling through it each time and reintroduce yourself, when spoken to the next time (again). They leave you perplexed. Close the door? Walk away? Stop smiling? Perhaps just decide to be kind. Yes, again.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-29722732385844856522016-09-12T03:51:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.670+03:00Families and CelebrationsSome families come together to celebrate while some families forever wait to come together to celebrate. Some families celebrate together. Some families try to forget what isn't right and work on celebrating together. Both families pray. Only Allah swt Knows how to fix what feels not right. May He Heal and Uplift both families. Ameen.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-86065050106722687122016-02-03T20:32:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:12.247+03:00Mediocre<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ApqzHgZJT1k/VsL6n-wKFuI/AAAAAAAAIBs/GBlTBn1NTv0/s1600/mediocre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="365" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ApqzHgZJT1k/VsL6n-wKFuI/AAAAAAAAIBs/GBlTBn1NTv0/s640/mediocre.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Signature" src="http://guest.mylivesignature.com/259/857C14178BE4C7F295CB67115ED22626.png" /></div>
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-35086574155920132862016-01-12T00:13:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.675+03:00Leela; Where I Paused, Breathed, and Prayed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LuJyrvUYqsw/VqOSl7DTdTI/AAAAAAAAH8o/xuCKW8dcRvA/s1600/IMG_9375.CR2-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LuJyrvUYqsw/VqOSl7DTdTI/AAAAAAAAH8o/xuCKW8dcRvA/s640/IMG_9375.CR2-002.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I sit here tonight, my last
night here insha’Allah for the foreseeable future. Tears stream down my face,
for it is not just tonight, but every night that I need to be more grateful. It
has been ever more heavy on my heart where I feel that I am unable to express
my gratitude to my Lord. I have moments of no emotion and thoughts, while I
live my now – and my now, when I stop to think about it, is grand and splendid
and everything rich. It is my blessing. It is my now. Am I making the most of
it? Am I being grateful enough? Have I taken advantage of it as I was meant to?
Has it given me peace and contentment? Am I looking deeper into in a now that
is not any deeper than I have already reached? Why am I feeling like I am
missing something? I ache from a fear that I may be doing something wrong? I
deliberately am not. I consciously am trying to do all things right. I pray I
am not wasting my grace. I pray I am doing justice with the share that I have
been endowed with and blessed with. I am surrounded by splendor and majesty; in
spirit and in manifest glory. I am in the middle of it. Every ounce of me, when
it just stops and feels, overwhelms itself to tears. Tears seem to have become
my expression of happiness, joy, reaction to beauty, sadness, responses to
pain, brokenness, and everything else in between. Are tears going to be my
salvation as I tread forward onto a shaken path, finding myself again? If
nothing else, I pray my eternity will remove all doubt and shower me with a
union of unparalleled peace and happiness. I want to be grateful for everything
else until then. I pray my fallen grace never fails to get back up and say
thanks. I pray my hope never bleeds out. I pray that the overwhelming questions
go to sleep and wake up to answers that will stand sturdy, take my hand, and
all will be alright. Insha’Allah. Oh Allah, please accept my thanks, for
everything. For every moment and thing and person who helps me remember You
more. Please bless them. I love You.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a></div>
Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-20196532725238244692015-12-29T21:45:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.644+03:00I Lived Another Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cPoHzSTdVkw/VsMIJkz9JRI/AAAAAAAAIB8/JF6pd8iAGpI/s1600/I%2Blived%2Banother%2Bday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cPoHzSTdVkw/VsMIJkz9JRI/AAAAAAAAIB8/JF6pd8iAGpI/s640/I%2Blived%2Banother%2Bday.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0px;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-82902068924851492962014-10-29T22:52:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:12.202+03:00Forgiveness of Sins<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wear my sins upon my skin,<br />
as it breaks and peels about me,<br />
This disgrace I accept...<br />
With every wear and tear of my bones,<br />
I wilt within, remembering<br />
the roads of folly and brave naivette<br />
that they chose to walk upon,<br />
Their weakness I accept...<br />
This heart, this soul,<br />
and all the memories<br />
which they begrudgingly encapsulate<br />
I writhe in pain from them being evoked<br />
For in my power their dousing<br />
does not work,<br />
dismembering each segment<br />
of how when and why they surfaced<br />
the mind to its fate surrenders<br />
and the soul that in its myriads<br />
had fornicated,<br />
lies naked and begging to be<br />
wiped clean, be washed,<br />and be purified of all memories <br />
that come alight when a random<br />
story is being told<br />
and it’s masked glory is <br />
shining like soldered gold...<br />For a jaded heart and its sordid mess<br />
has no place for promises<br />
that lied and tore <br />
as they unabashedly caressed<br />
the surface clean and left it disgustingly black.<br />
Forever scrubbing...<br />
washing...<br />
scraping...<br />
peeling...<br />
wishing to undo the layers,<br />
of stench and hell<br />
that each memory played<br />
on its beaten mattress<br />
Upon which the soul laid down <br />
and recoiled…<br />
I close my eyes; shut them very tight<br />
And my lips fervently beg.<br />
My soul travels till where <br />You, my Lord, will allow it go<br />
in its sleep or when awake<br />
and my soul continues <br />
to throw itself upon Your Walls<br />
and burns in hope for your Mercy<br />
That one day this soul of mine<br />
will be freed; totally cleansed<br />
like a new born baby,<br />
and with Your Permission<br />
the heart will beat again.<br />
With Your Permission<br />
it will breathe again.<br />
With Your Permission<br />
the soul will be granted <br />
entry into Your Haven<br />
and will thence never fall again.<br />
Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi rajioon.<br />
To God; Allah, we belong<br />
and to Him is our return.</div>
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a></div>
Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-6810620814310087242014-05-29T23:15:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.591+03:00Tawakkul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-8554923419543518272014-05-10T01:20:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.597+03:00When it rained in Makkah...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I saw pictures today, of the Ka’aba in Makkah…
with water pouring down all its sides, and then pictures of Makkah being
flooded... <br />
<br />
My mind filled up with thoughts of how I last saw the mosque under heavy
construction and renovations, just over 2 weeks ago myself – and my imagination
ran awry with a barrage of what if scenarios; of what torrential rain could do
in terms of wreaking havoc upon the many pilgrims and the hundreds upon
hundreds of people visiting the Holy Mosque. My mind went into fast forward,
crying instantly… worrying about how all these people from afar put their
hearts and savings into bringing themselves to this House of Allah, to pour their
hearts out and beg for mercy and miracles – and how they would be greeted with
this hardship, making it ever more so hard… so hard because they won’t be able
to pray surrounded by so much water… so hard because every ritual would become
tougher and more testing… and in that short moment when I came upon this news,
I started searching the internet for videos. <br />
<br />
The <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ATo_59vdpg" target="_blank">first one I found</a> showed people praying in the puddles of water surrounding
the Ka’aba, as if there was nothing out of place… I saw this and it made me
want to cry even more – while my younger sister, watching from beside me said –
‘‘Think about how their dua’s are being granted as they make them – because not
only are they in the House of Allah, but they’re praying while it’s raining!’’
and I thought – subhaanAllah… we really focus on things from such different
places… we – the people i.e. <br />
<br />
Then later in the day, I came upon a <a href="https://www.blogger.com/%3Cdiv%20id=%22fb-root%22%3E%3C/div%3E%20%3Cscript%3E(function(d,%20s,%20id)%20%7B%20var%20js,%20fjs%20=%20d.getElementsByTagName(s)%5B0%5D;%20if%20(d.getElementById(id))%20return;%20js%20=%20d.createElement(s);%20js.id%20=%20id;%20js.src%20=%20%22//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1%22;%20fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js,%20fjs);%20}(document,%20%27script%27,%20%27facebook-jssdk%27));%3C/script%3E%20%3Cdiv%20class=%22fb-post%22%20data-href=%22https://www.facebook.com/AbuEesaPersonal/posts/297635807066260%22%20data-width=%22466%22%3E%3Cdiv%20class=%22fb-xfbml-parse-ignore%22%3E%3Ca%20href=%22https://www.facebook.com/AbuEesaPersonal/posts/297635807066260%22%3EPost%3C/a%3E%20by%20%3Ca%20href=%22https://www.facebook.com/AbuEesaPersonal%22%3EAbu%20Eesa%3C/a%3E.%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E" target="_blank">post from one of my favourite teachers</a>::<br />
<br />
<i>‘‘The first thing, the last thing, and indeed everything that my teacher taught
me, can be summarized as: always be grateful to the Lord. After the shocking
floods in Makkah yesterday, I called him: </i></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Me: Shaykh, are you ok?</i></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Shaykh: We are drowning in His Mercy, not in the flood.
</i></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Allahumma lakal hamd ya Rabb, always and forever.’’</i></blockquote>
<br />
We – the people, have so much more to learn, so far to go… May our Lord give us
patience, resilience and grace through the toughest of times, and may He bless
us to be forever grateful, come snow, wind, hail, rain or shine – in all
aspects of our lives – Allahumma Ameen wa lakal hamd wa la hawla wala quwwata
illa billa wa la illaha illAllah wa AllahoAkbar
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-81301352666349368332014-03-01T18:45:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:12.187+03:00Escapism...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Wup6ZBvpIqYoO8_pETPTqABVn848Eo52Owq2ieLmGCin7nna7Ynn8CDl6rVxGlke47v0U-bKWf_Loac6rgjRVwh50h32OwuzpTSmu00tvi_KKCsWtvbeRWGIVGw2hX7xceSwvnQwJvT0/s1600/IMG_5984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Wup6ZBvpIqYoO8_pETPTqABVn848Eo52Owq2ieLmGCin7nna7Ynn8CDl6rVxGlke47v0U-bKWf_Loac6rgjRVwh50h32OwuzpTSmu00tvi_KKCsWtvbeRWGIVGw2hX7xceSwvnQwJvT0/s1600/IMG_5984.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>''... She wished to blow a bubble... nice, big and roomy... all around herself, and get it to be pushed off into the atmosphere, where it would float above and away from all things and people that she knew. In that bubble, she'd be allowed to be herself, and that would be okay with the bubble... and nothing else would ever matter again...''</i><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-36727166294626890532014-02-01T22:47:00.001+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.680+03:00Mayhem - Death<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjylrADL9pDBzQJeiff2OLPA5t1o8uQmpDXzqfTKKkf4rsNwZR7cLKXTMSSiAMWOA24qdcDECIJwxRE6rHrAnUA_NdOyQ5oPhGS1dxiG3FBEcJoo4_J5iC10NQFx7OR7j9w0RDaNPtB-pFu/s1600/1625619_594871633923295_570601970_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjylrADL9pDBzQJeiff2OLPA5t1o8uQmpDXzqfTKKkf4rsNwZR7cLKXTMSSiAMWOA24qdcDECIJwxRE6rHrAnUA_NdOyQ5oPhGS1dxiG3FBEcJoo4_J5iC10NQFx7OR7j9w0RDaNPtB-pFu/s1600/1625619_594871633923295_570601970_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*<u>Picture taken from the internet: Source unknown</u><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">With
dirt across their face in streaks<br />
Grimy hands and cracked feet<br />
Shirts strewn with blood and…<br />
<br />
Doesn’t your heart shriek<br />
Don’t your eyes weep<br />
They are desperate for you and I<br />
to do something<br />
before all and everything <br />
that we knew to be life<br />
is destroyed by their <br />
bomb and gunfire speak<br />
Age is not even a number<br />
as their bodies are piled high<br />
One across another<br />
Two on top of their mother<br />
brother sister aunty uncle<br />
They’re all holding hands <br />
of aged worried grandparents<br />
stooped, then maligned and buried<br />
beneath a ravaged son and a father <br />
who holds his new born bundle<br />
blown to pieces before he could <br />
even kiss its cheek<br />
The unborn fetus that couldn’t<br />
even make it into this world<br />
before it was wrenched<br />
into uncountable pieces of a family<br />
drenched and buried in their own blood<br />
Lineages wiped out before humanities eyes <br />
Havoc is hurled about<br />
And all its creations lie asunder<br />
<br />
Oh Lord! Please send your Mercy?<br />
<br />
With dirt across his face<br />
Grimy hands, cracked feet<br />
Tears in streaks upon streaks<br />
Tattered clothes strewn with blood!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a></div>
Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-72672830948177152912013-11-06T22:25:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:12.165+03:00I'll wait till 2020...<div class="MsoNormal">
That year was 2010</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When no more thoughts of ‘they’ I’d pine</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d give in to the decree of His Chime</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whatever cometh my way here forth</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With patience I’d persevere their force</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And only to Him I would then turn</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And ask for every moment’s burn</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be healed and recompensed in full</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d wait till 2020 to see</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How empty or full this stance shall have been</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
May the Lord make it easy – Ameen.</div>
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1292400487791512128.post-50765586916520667662013-10-28T21:10:00.000+03:002023-04-30T06:46:11.727+03:00That Shore Where...<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My
Lord, please… <br />
<br />
Take me to a shore that allows me to float upon it, take my time, and come to a
semblance of some rest…<br />
<br />
Take me over to a bridge that stands around me, gives me strength, and saves me
from tipping myself and falling over...<br />
<br />
Take me to a road that can bear the weight of me upon it, and allow me to walk
straight on to a place where I seem to need to go…<br />
<br />
To a house that is built with walls of sturdiness, with boulders of peace,
cemented with an abundance of mercy…<br />
<br />
Give me a heart serene and calm, that sees beauty in all things - and if not -
it still tries very hard to…<br />
<br />
Give me eyes that are not mere tools which judge all that is unfamiliar and new…<br />
<br />
Take me to a place where the shore will let me float about it, and hold me
close to its bosom…<br />
<br />
Where I will have come home, and all will be right with everything…<br />
<br />
Insha’Allah; Ameen.</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/85931/hayaah/346dcf47f8ca4187728c7483e42a1cc4.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a>Hayaahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587119715699668322noreply@blogger.com0