A poem reads the reader, wrote by the poet.

But a poet writes for the reader that ignited her art.

And ignites her heart.

Maybe on a good enough weather,

I'll bloom good enough.

Maybe it was just the good weather that had enough of me,

or we were almost good enough.

My words are running dry,
My heart is turning cold,
But I need to keep trying,

Even if I'm left a whisper
Just like a fading flower

Told, to try.

Tell her He is with the oppress
Tell her He is with the distress

Tell her He is with the traveller, the grief and the broken heart

Tell her of her Master – The Al-Baqi, The Everlasting even if time is count in lightning years apart

For He is to his servant, as she remembers Him, but tons closer than in her heart.

To The Creator you are one, to the creation you are none.  

Your little heart wouldn’t know what failure and lost felt like.
For you only understood matters by sight 

But your heart, small as it seems, but pure as light.
Among the brightest, filled with love and crafted by the Almight

May the little heart be left unharmed by the worldly plights
And make love your one and only guide 

And may it always be,
Just like where He is,

right by your side. 

To every end, a new adventure awaits.

For it’s never an end for those who walk through His gates. 

The only people with whom you should get even with are those that raised and helped you. 

The only people with whom you should give your all are those that never doubted yours. 

The only people with whom you should make your only people are those that made you theirs. 

But the only people are after all, only people.