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Author Topic: Writings from a Sister in the UK  (Read 4870 times)
WCoastbaba
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« on: Apr 21, 2009 03:29 PM »


As-salaamu alaikum dear Ones - Just wanted to share a piece of writing from a Sister I "met" on Muxlim - she's got real talent. I'll just post one of her most recent pieces for now - there are many more that were just out of this world. Enjoy and tell me what you think. She's only 17 years old.  Smiley

Title: About Muhammad....sw

Forever Missing Light:
And we’re on the last few pages now,
So we bottle up the feelings, like a rock stuck in the throat,
As we know it’s his last bow.
It’s always a beautiful day and the sun shines with pride,
Everywhere a yellow glow by our side,
We don’t want it to go...
Then the book ends, the seerah comes to a close,
Our eyes start choking and hearts start bleeding,
A painful empty space, filled with emotions within us grows.
Overwhelmed with awe as to how a man could be so pure,
Though it is dark and confusing in this space his Sunnah is the cure.
Gentle words of graceful truth he spoke, but all we hear is a mere echo,
It’s powerful enough to shake our foundations and break our shells of arrogance and greed, the hate that we sow.
He taught humbleness and happiness through all of life’s burdens,
Through death, illness, social isolation,
Through mockery and hatred he found spiritual rejuvenation.
Only a soul like Muhammad’s could still have so much love for God’s creation through teary eyes,
And as I look around this sunlit room, his ummah cries.
Us, his ummah, his little sheep,
Admiring and missing his good deeds,
Elevated to a mountains worth, such a worthy heap.
Don’t shed a tear of sympathy nor of pity,
Albeit, gush out streams for mercy and gratitude, weep.
Only a heart like Muhammads could have been a shining sun for humankind,
With the light all hurt, sorrow and depression melts and a soft wind blows it away,
Only patience, love and humility are what our eyes find.
We cry rivers, but no need for sorrow, as it is the white light we follow.
It illuminates our way for guidance in out each and every day,
Like the air we breathe, his example must penetrate our every cell,
Strive to be like him in every way.
His way you cannot miss, to live the real life in eternal bliss, he was a reminder as to how this life is mere abyss.
Muhammad’s words crafted into sentence, a poetic song written with Ihsan- excellence, carve his
devoutness into your being.
But as we look around, we fear no soul shall be as beautiful to brighten up our life,
Our heart crave to illuminate as his did, ears crave to hear his voice; hands crave to be as giving as
his and our feet to follow him through sacrifice and strife.
Yet there’s an excruciating painful silence, a void.
Even though we fill it with his sunnah, allowing that echo to go deeper than our hearts, so our love for
Islam pumps in our every vein and the sadness felt missing Gods rasool isn’t for vain,
There’ll always be a breath snatching pain.


The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #1 on: Apr 29, 2009 05:56 AM »

wsalam,

that's a great poem ma'shallah. please tell her to share more of her writings!!

ws
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« Reply #2 on: Apr 30, 2009 01:22 PM »

Here's another piece of hers that I absolutely loved (btw, she said it was cool that I was posting some of her work on here. I'll post more insha'allah ,but if you want, check out her blog: http://poetryandsoul.blogspot.com/

desibro
BABA

Title: Five Times a Day

Five times a day.....
I take my chalk and draw a line,
I take this sword and cut myself off from these sorrows and worries.
Vertical line- in the direction of my goal.
No regrets. No feelings. Nothing for the illusion I leave behind.
Make my intention to leave the world and enter a place so far away,
I have this sword on my right, take a towel, lift it before putting it down, to cover the area below in which I will bleed.
That breeze- cool, forgiving breeze in the seconds between who I was, and what I was to become.
Nothing matters at this point, except my heart.
Death has always scared me and so I'd run from it constantly,
But when I made my intention I smiled for I had embraced death like a lost friend.
I still had that bottle though, full of my tears and was now going to pour it out.
It’s always in my throat ready to come out before I begin.
-A huge clump that doesn’t let me breath.
So much blood as I took the sword and raised it to my neck.
I lost so much in those moments. I lost my name, my identity;
I lost my judgements, personality, even my face.
So much, arms became weakened.
There was no blood left in them- so much pain and suffering in starting a new page.
Yet it had to be done.
I grasped the earth as I fell down in agony and dug my hands deep into it.
It cleaned away the itchy scars and, now brown blood.
With this ounce of strength deep I the muscle of my stomach, hope, my love for this truth plucked me out of the dark mud.
I breathe- I breathe- deep into the pits of my confusion and misery- The oxygen- like snow, ice and frost- fills the dark pits with white.
I breathe- and those pits become a source of radiant light- it shines.
And my dark raisin like face- smoothes out into soft clay- reflecting out the Faith (Imaan) within.
Tired, smiling and full of content, this sequence of events repeats itself.
Until there isn’t but a single tiny speck of blackness within.
Then I see I have plenty of chalk left and smile again. Keeping my fingers and tongue heavy with his name. I look around and see Believers (the trees and nature) surround me, and smile.
Fold up the mat carefully, ready for dhuhr, and inshallah the speck of blackness will reduce in size.
And when nothing but my imaan shines off my 'qalb'- heart- I'll be resurrected.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #3 on: Apr 30, 2009 01:24 PM »

Yet another wonderful piece . .

desibro
BABA

Title : Awe struck/Faith Struck

Awe Struck/ Faith Struck


I looked outside a window,
It was quite some time ago....
One glance, and I was wept away,
With these huge frightful soldiers of nature,
Gave me back a look of dismay.
Solid steel legs, climbed the atmosphere,
Hands and arms touch the heavens and beyond.
Though I was so far away,
It still felt as though it would leap and crush me, til I was gone.
Black branches in the tired dark sky,
Strange, mystical waves communicating with me.
Scared and small,
Weakened by this magnificence, coz of disbelief.
Breath taken away by fear.
I cry.
Faith struck:
I stuck my head out of a window,
Felt a beautiful wind blow.
Looked ahead, A Believer waved.
I loved it so, for my Imaan it had saved.
Its hands stretched out to me,
humblyBowing its branches to its creator.
Infront of the moonlit clouds I see,
The soldiers true nature and beauty.
Its just like me, but unlike me,
Has its roots strongly secure in soil.
Stays humble and Muslim not matter how much it rains,
No matter how much its inflicted with pain or toil.
Strengthened by this magnificence due to belief,
I sigh.
Breath taken away by awe and admiration,
I cry.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #4 on: May 06, 2009 05:03 PM »


Title:  THIS LOVE

This love is so real, yet so untouchable. The smile of a person: Those bright eyes and lips shine in your own eyes and fill your soul with happiness, only for a few moments though. But this love literally drenches your every breath. Exhausted with love, but you still want Him to love you more. Dig His fingers into your soul- Cleaning it- cleaning it 'til it returns to its original state. Rip open my chest and cleanse my soul with your mercy. Sit and pray. Stand and pray. Walk and pray. Lie and pray. Cry and pray. Be weakened by love, strengthened with love. For God. Feel cool winds blow on you once you've wept enough for love. Love is sacrifice. Sacrifice brings happiness. You'll smile again, Inshallah.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #5 on: May 06, 2009 05:05 PM »


Title: THIS WORLD THAT I LIVE IN
Look at this world I live in, so beautiful and pure.Where the trees and mountains bow perfectly in submission.
The sun, moon, stars and clouds all in perfect rhythm and harmony in the sky.
The sky, my mysterious friend- watching over me always.
Such magnificence- one can go on years describing the beauty of God's creation.
Clean, clear water from the heavens, so sweet and fills my soul with all that is good.
Look at this world I live in, so magical.Where my soul is constantly drifting into wonderful places.
The words of the book and the smell of Earth lift my essence to another dimension.
The feeling of Imaan, so mystifying, Every time I pray I disappear and Im flying with my mysterious friend. Im not here at all.
I’m in my world- where there is light, kindness and everything is beautiful and pure.

That world that I live in, Look at that world that I live in, Everywhere I go, enveloped in a sickening scent.These monstrous machines, polluting the gardens of purity.
How I hate that world!
Where no matter how hard I try to befriend another I'm always alone and petrified.
That world, where the sun burns skin and fire is people's abodes.
Look at that world that I live in, where I’m never comfortable- in any position, physically, mentally.
All I taste is hatred and blood.
I don’t have a place here, no one loves me and Ill never fit into a society that mock their saviors.
So I run away. I run so hastily....To this world that I live in and hope to remain in it for eternity.
I run to you five times a day, and I’m so sorry for when I don’t, I only lose out myself-I should know.
I love you so much for pulling me out of that world.
Thank you, Protecting Friend.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #6 on: May 06, 2009 05:06 PM »

Another . . .
desibro
BABA

Title: ULTIMATE STRUGGLE
Im ill and tired and losing the will power to live.
This thing I hold onto- torn and ripped- I still hold on.
Jihad= it means to struggle. Islam= surrender.
The two come hand in hand, It takes sacrifice to surrender. The sacrifice is the struggle- struggling with ones mind, soul, tongue, body etc.
Struggling in order to surrender.
What is surrender? Allahuakbar-
Hands raised up wards to the magnificent power that controls you.
Holding nothing but that soul of yours.
Letting go. Letting go of the box.
The box that holds your little insignificant world, with your name on it.
Let go of it you morons. Im ill, but no medicine will cure me. Except for the light waters of an everlasting gently flowing spring of guidance. The cure is the Quran.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #7 on: May 06, 2009 05:07 PM »

This one I really loved . . .

desibro
BABA
Wake Up
I can’t take any more of this ignorance you show, to that book on the shelf you really don’t know. The dust its gathering, the pages yellow.
Such amazing words of what is real, if only you gave it a look you’d know how I feel, the rope you’re SUPPOSED to hold onto you tightly wrap and seal?... ...high up somewhere with your blindness- wow look at this madness.
You answers never decay, I tell you but you give me a 'one day'??
You’re dead tomorrow then what’ll you say?
Man! It’s right in your faces how can you object?
You say 'Outhubillah' but it’s the Quran you reject?
How strange, the guidance you neglect?
You shut me up with so and so did this and I heard this imam said, Man!
But it’s your damned soul that needs to be fed.
With the truthfulness of the Quran, then you’ll reach that state of Ihsan, and by God its true Islam.
Does it really mean anything to you? I mean that word Islam?
You clearly spell out all the halal ironic how your soul is drenched in haram.
Ironic how you question the ummahs state, yet look @ your own fiery fate!
Ironic how you’re Muslim by name, but compare your soul with the kafir- and wow, check this- they’re just the same.
Just self reflect, and that dusty Quran of yours- don’t neglect,
Coz if you’re dead in the next hour...well you’re dead.

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« Reply #8 on: May 25, 2009 10:31 PM »

Black Tear
A black tear that falls because of lack of identity, loneliness and self isolation...

Self isolation is necessary when the rest of world is effed up and no person in your life sees Islam or talks about it the way you do.

Where lies their happiness and peace?

Materialism, this includes the clothes they wear, the friends they hang out with.

 You can’t befriend assholes, when you have a heart that needs purifying and a soul to resurrect.

There’s something more than this that we were born for, more than materialism, greater then consumerism.

Companions are needed at times when people bite your back and often meditation also- cave hira.

At first you were kicked out of society, the little groups of kids, all owning a part of the playground, you didn’t belong to any of them. And as you hit your teen years, it flips over, and you flip over to become something else.

Now you kick yourself out of the groups of kids that own the corridors, cafeteria, playground, the family circles, social gatherings etc.

It hurts knowing very few people aren’t blinded by the world’s colours and perfumes, and games and treasures, the attractions that they shove their faces in, like  engulfing the flames of hell.

Yet the drop of water that falls off this face is clean and pure, yet as it trickles down, it goes darker the more it’s exposed to the world.

Black isn’t a colour, albeit it absorbs all colour, ands holds more than you could know. All the sins clenched in the fist of the tear turns it black.

Social isolation: Spiritual rejuvenation, following Muhammads footsteps....

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #9 on: May 25, 2009 10:32 PM »

‘Virtual Reality’

 The day ends and everyone hastens through the corridors,
 Yet I don’t rush but slide my out of this virtual reality.

 Overloaded with people, but not a single other being touches or comes near me as I walk past.
All sound is blocked out, none of them are real.
And in those minutes neither am I, because I say I’m not real.
 Everyone, young and old, beautiful and ugly, my lost friends my best friends, enemies, haters, lovers, they all simply flood away.
 Then my eyes dive into loves and I can hear that voice, and I know its real, and I’m real because I say so.
Captivated by gentleness, kindness and honesty, I merge into love and truthfulness  as I find my true existence and let it flourish.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #10 on: May 25, 2009 10:33 PM »

Oh youre one of them

I shared with you all my secrets, my wonderful ideas, darkest and most deep thoughts.

Thinking maybe this is where our journey might intertwine.
Where we share a few smiles and happy moments.
You scream rhetorically, “What DO you bloody like in this life?"
Flashbacks always hurt my head and a bit of my heart I guess.
With your screams, comes the shattering of your heart- like smashing glass-
sharp pointy pieces that cut deep.
But I always hide my cuts from you know coz if I show you,
your sympathy means nothing, you look at me pathetically.
Of course fairy tales aren't real; all I ask is for a little opening of the mind and control of ones anger. - Coz you have no idea what your emotions are capable of.
I have your eyes, not your heart, tongue, hands, mind or tendency to break off from the crowd.
To be unique in analyzing and imagining, and even loneliness, and separation.
I like being alone.
I always try writing you a poem/song/story etc but I can’t.
Your lap was only warm for a short time.
I saw you through the air between us.
You saw me through the clouded glass; I had blood on my hands through your eyes.
I'd murdered all your dreams, aspirations and expectations of me.
Your anger- such intense passionate anger.
I could spend a lifetime painting it out.
You mute me with your anger and everything I should say I don’t, and everything I shouldn’t say I do.
So I crawl back into my corner and weep/
But this time my faith wasn’t at stake, just your belief and hope in me.
I have my Imaan.
I have my beliefs.
I don’t need anything else.

I still love you though, always will.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #11 on: May 25, 2009 10:35 PM »

Again, really loved this one, as it hit "home" for me and I'm sure many of us can relate to this in some manner.
 desibro BABA

FROM THE HEART

Never will a painting, poem or sacrifice be equal to a Mothers love, nor could her strength be compared.

Though I try to show you a glimpse of your place in my heart, these words won’t describe it vividly enough.

I could spend years describing my love for you, my passion to please you.

I try so much to decorate you with words caring, pleasant and appropriate.

You know I fall and you know my tears so well,

This day you gave so much to let me breath oxygen, breath Imaan and joy.

I don’t know how to thank you, so I spend hours praying this incredible Mother of mine never feels hell fire, never feels pain after her death and God gives her peace for eternity.

You don’t hear my dua’s, but yet you’re still cloaked in a harmonious song of joy I hear you sing to me when my emotions drench my strength and my last bit of hope falls into your arms.

I think you now know that I am the falling wanderer. That walks slowly, then falls and gets hurt. Gets up, then runs, then falls and gets hurt. Gets up, and then flies powerfully in light. I fly in light though my mind still fights with me.

I apologise for when I’ve fallen, hurt myself or anyone else. The heart is such a gentle thing, yet we tend to bruise it so easily. I’m sorry.

When younger I thought the distance between our hearts would increase, yet when the truth of my soul cries out to you, I see that my days and years have decreased the distance. Alhamdulillah.

Life is such a beautiful thing, and God bless you a million + times for giving it to me.

Ameen.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #12 on: May 25, 2009 10:37 PM »

TRUTH ABOUT HIS LIFE

Another day begins so does another chapter of this story/another movie.

The next scene of this play.

The characters all come on stage, bring along with them their lines, put on their masks and as though another has put the words in their mouth, speak.

All too engrossed into their actions and speech, as though the props are real.

Then a little boy comes on stage, alone and frightened at the audience and other overpowering characters.

You see the characters know their role, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel part of it at all.

He doesn’t play a role, or have a place in this play.

Probably the only one that feels so fake up here. Futile existence.

Feels so far from all the others trapped in their characters emotions,

feels so far from them all.

Far from his own character, his own actions and words feel as though they’ve already been written, so far from himself, even further from the director.

And with each new scene the distance increases.

Trapped in this play- that people call ‘life’ or ‘existence’.

Can only come out of it when the curtains get drawn- a simple blow of a horn- his character will only be freed when his script ends.

Characters come and go and have a role but where’s his?

He feels no real emotion it’s just really good acting.

He feels no true connection with the director- it’s just to make her feel there’s hope.

He passionately cries out in his soliloquy, and rants on about his fake emotions.

So not real, just a made up character of someone’s imagination.

A part of a big play- his role so tiny and insignificant- maybe the director forgot about him because he was so small and forgot to give him life.

When the script does end, how will he react?

Will his existence then be real? Will his feelings then be real?

Will the play end? Or just start another, new, unseen scene?

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #13 on: May 25, 2009 10:39 PM »

Be who you're supposed to be

Sadness is not a feeling, but a state of the heart, an uncontrollable condition when something is missing, has been taken away or never found, including emotions and people.

The fragment of you floating further and further away from what you've become.

The mind is firm in truth and patience and its continuously working in harmony with the body,

The heart is firm in faith,

yet the soul still wonders aimlessly for hours without any commas or full stops.

Wandering, pondering in its loneliness only to find more of it.

Only to realise after hours and days and months that the soul will never be content, unless it accepts this loneliness, this rejection, this misery...this world.

To not swallow a gulp of neglegance or isolation, but to breath in acceptance and surrender to reality.

From the age of three this searching began, the loos continued repeating-

The wind that goes around in circles to create a whirlwind of negativity-

befriend and love some, be rejected by others, mocked, hated and then those friends throw you out of the circles, til at the end of nursery you realise you'll never fit in.

You'll never be pleased,

You'll always be ignored,

you'll never be perfect and that you'll always be this way, unfortunatley.

Another state of mind would just not be you, another skin to peel off.

...And at the end of high school the same moral of the story nocks at the door and slashes your heart.

And how do we get out of this whirlwind? We dont, we fly in it, with only God holding our hand.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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« Reply #14 on: May 25, 2009 10:39 PM »

DOUBT

Although all the signs are there, the crystal clear beauty, my eyes are so fully aware of; like the soft
wind that kisses my cheek, the early sun that lightens up life’s burdens and white doves that
emerge from my mothers’ smile, I still hesitate to pray.
The truth so clear, like the sweet, purified water I use to wash myself in preparation for prayer.
I see the truth; but it’s through a clouded mind, so the clarity is tainted with emotions and doubt.
How does one let go of something buried within them so deep?
How do I pull out this barbed wire that digs into my thoughts and even throat at times and lets me breathe not?
These hands of mine fill with black tears, a pool of confusion drowning my belief in God so quickly.
Sometimes it comes so easily, like a liquid of arrogance running through me, other times this mind of
mine battles with itself, until I end up pulling off my faith, and sleeping through the time for prayer,
though it hurts.
Why was it easy as a child?
I would simply just believe in this invisible, incredible power happily.
Damn this conscious of mine for pondering beyond the limits of words and actions!
All I do now is crave for faith and regret not embracing my lost friend.
The tree that waves mystically in the moonlit night sky,
I crave to be like it, peacefully praising the most high.
Yet this damn tongue utters words of disrespect,
So my heart blackens, and it is the guidance I reject.
Due to this feeling of impurity, hurt and neglect.
I know all the signs are there, but why still does this vast land of mine not blossom patience,
gentleness and certainty when most needed?
God knows …well I sure hope he does.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
WCoastbaba
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« Reply #15 on: Aug 11, 2009 07:46 PM »

8/10/09
A Muslim

Who could sum up the meaning of their life in one sentence that has the power to bring millions down to their knees in tears?
Who could sacrifice their every memory, moment and happiness for something they can’t even see, hear or touch?
Which sane man would leave his self and all the people dear to him for the betterment of his hidden soul?
Which man would be ready to die, happily, at any given moment of his life?
Who could be revived and reborn instantly and so content, not once but several times a day?
Who could be a blossoming white rose of hope, from the depths of misery and hate?
How could the whole world, every mountain, beautiful tree, the seas and oceans, every possible invention or creation of man, every unique and beautiful creature, be regarded as a mere iota in the heart of a person?
Who could be in love with a man whom they have never seen, but just heard of, and hold more dear than their own self?
Who could accept nothing in return for their blood, sweat and tears every day?
Which person do you know, that lives so far away, yet loves you more than them self?
Which person do you know, works and strives all day, bleeding, starving and forgiving all the ridicule and hate that surrounds them, and though their last breath is very soon, they keep working?
.......I know a few Smiley Alhamdulilah.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
WCoastbaba
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« Reply #16 on: Aug 11, 2009 07:47 PM »

8/10/09
Melancholy

What goes beyond the nerve cells? Freedom?
Maybe if dug deep enough, all the pointless emotions I could strum.
To be another would be a loss; to have flown away would be a defeat,
To oneself would be the greatest triumph without having to fleet.
Some suffer from others fire and some, very few, die ever so slowly within,
An uncontrollable monster under the skin.
But what’s the use in trying to fight against it and win?
They all mock, hate, ridicule and jeer.
Constantly ashamed and embarrassed, you tell me to remain silent so harshly,
And it’s you I always fear.
Will I always be a failure in your eyes?
Just when I was about to open my wings that I thought were slowly growing,
You cut them off with your words.
There is no success for someone like me, except to quietly die away from all.
Yes I self pity, I’m pathetic I know, you say it everyday, so openly, so bold.
Sometimes it’s not just Allah that you can always turn to,
Sometimes it takes another hand to hold.
Maybe if I told you a bit more it would help, maybe if I just remain silent the way you say and stop irritating you I might see more clearly.
Why is it you can say whatever you want to me, with every harsh word in your dictionary,
and criticise and scorn everything about me?
Yet when I try very humbly to give you a little advice,
You shun me and tell me to think not once, but thrice.
When will the heart speak and not the tongue?
I want it to speak today, from this hand and ink, these songs I write, that always go unsung.
“Except those who repent and do righteous deeds, and openly declare
(The truth which they concealed)”
I can’t say it though; these nerves get the better of me,
Like paper on fire, my throat catches a flame of shame and shyness, and takes away my ability to speak.
They have so much to say, oceans of poetic rants bombarded the mind,
When they have so little to say, they use so many eloquent lines and phrases.
Hypocrites, like a donkey carrying tons of heavy books on his back,
the ego and pride the Imam always chases.

The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another:  [9:71]
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