Poetry

If we ever part, perhaps we’ll meet only in dreams

Like dried flowers found between the pages of old books. 🥀📖

Where are you, my love? Come to me…😔

My heart longs for your presence, and love itself is calling you home. For some distances are measured in miles, but the ache of missing you is measured only by the heart. 🥺

DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND, 💌

A Letter to the Man I Haven’t Met

Dear Future Husband,

It’s me again.

Yes, me.

The woman you haven’t met,
The one you haven’t found,
The one who’s patiently waiting,
While you’re nowhere to be found!

Now, I don’t mean to sound impatient,
And I’m certainly not complaining,
But I’ve written you so many letters,
Even my pen is getting tired of waiting!

I mean, seriously…

What’s taking you so long?

Have you taken a wrong turn?
Misplaced your GPS?
Or are you somewhere making du’a
For a woman who’s already saying YES?

Well, hypothetically speaking, of course.

Don’t get ahead of yourself!

You see…

Our eyes may never have met,
Our hands may never have touched,
But somehow, in this heart of mine,
There’s a space for someone I haven’t met as such.

And isn’t that strange?

That I could describe you like a work of art,
Without ever having seen your face,
Painting colours of your personality,
Giving every little quirk its place.

I’d paint your kindness in shades of blue,
Your laughter in golden light,
Your patience in the softest green,
Your faith in stars that shine at night.

And your imperfections?

Well, those can stay.

I’m not looking for a masterpiece
That needs no fixing anyway.

Because perfection?

My dear, that’s not on my list.

Come with your quirks,
Your peculiar habits,
Your peccadilloes,
And whatever else exists!

Come with your terrible jokes,
Your questionable fashion sense,
Your inability to find things
When they’re right in front of you.

Yes, I’ll probably roll my eyes.

But I’ll still laugh with you.

And if you leave your socks on the floor?

Well…

Let’s just say patience is a virtue,
And I’m still working on mine.

But listen…

I don’t need you to be perfect.

I don’t need a knight in shining armour,
Or a prince upon a throne,
I need a man who fears Allah,
And makes my heart feel home.

Someone who understands
That love isn’t always poetry,
Sometimes it’s simply noticing
When the other person needs a cup of coffee.

Two sugars?

No, thank you.

Just remember how I take mine.

You see, I’m not a hopeless romantic.

I’m a hopeful one.

There’s a difference.

I don’t believe in fairy tales,
Or happily-ever-afters without a test,
I believe in two imperfect souls
Trying to bring out each other’s best.

I believe in laughter after arguments,
In apologies without pride,
In knowing when to speak your mind,
And when to sit quietly side by side.

I believe in silly conversations,
In debates that last all night,
In agreeing to disagree,
Without needing to prove who’s right.

Although…

Between you and me,

I’ll probably be right.

Most of the time.

But don’t worry,
I’ll let you win occasionally.

Consider it sadaqah.

You’re welcome. 🤭

And when life gets difficult,
As inevitably it will,
I don’t expect you to move mountains,
Or make every storm stand still.

Just stand beside me.

Remind me of Allah
When the world becomes too loud,
And I’ll remind you of His mercy
When your heart is weighed down.

Let’s build something beautiful,
Not for the eyes of those outside,
But a home where faith and laughter
Can comfortably reside.

A home where sakinah isn’t just a word,
But something we both feel,
Where love isn’t measured by grand gestures,
But by the little things that make it real.

And perhaps one day,
When we’re old and grey,
We’ll laugh about these letters
And how long you took to find your way.

I’ll ask you what kept you,
And you’ll probably have some excuse.

Something about divine timing,
Or getting lost,
Or waiting for the perfect shoes.

And I’ll smile.

Because the truth is…

I know you’re not late.

Allah’s timing is never wrong,
And every chapter has its place,
Every prayer its appointed answer,
Every journey its own pace.

Allah created the sun and moon,
Each travelling its appointed way,
And if marriage is written for us,
Our paths will cross on the destined day.

Until then…

I’ll keep writing.

Not because I’m lonely,
Not because my life is incomplete,
But because I have a heart full of words
For someone I’ve yet to meet.

And when Allah finally brings you into my life,
I won’t ask where you’ve been.

I’ll simply say,

Alhamdulillah.

_Because what was written for me
Was never going to miss me.

And what wasn’t written for me
Was never mine to begin with._

So, dear future husband…

Take your time.

But perhaps…

Not too much time.

I’m not getting any younger,
And neither, I suspect, are you!

Besides, I’ve got a lifetime of sarcasm
And an entire library of poetry
Waiting to be shared with you.

And trust me…

You’re going to need a sense of humour.

A very good one.

With love, laughter, and a little impatience,

Your future wife.

P.S.

If you’re reading this
And wondering whether it’s about you…

Well…

Have a word with my wali.

I’m sure we can work something out. 🤭❤️

When I look into your magnetic gaze, it makes me wonder whether khudha made everyone into a custom mould of someone's liking.

There must be some connection between every pair. I swear , I won't admire another attractive Nazar...ask me what attaining you means , Habib...

My dreams were empty but you have been adding yours into my empty one.
Now you tell me am I allowed to want these dreams to come true?

For eighteen years, the endless chase,
Exhausted in the worldly race.

A frantic run for fleeting things,
And all the stress the dunya brings.

But now, a sudden shift in pace,
A faster sprint to seek His grace.

Five times a day, at lightning speed,
The masjid calls to every need.

No longer running for the prize,
That fades away before our eyes.

At eighteen miles per hour, I fly,
To stand before the Lord on high.

"Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad!
Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!
Oh, God! it is unutterable!
I cannot live without my life!
I cannot live without my soul!"
— Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights 🥀
Sometimes a piece of fiction captures the absolute, terrifying truth of what it feels like to lose a part of your own soul. Classic literature just hits different when you've lived enough life to actually understand the depth of it.

Oil Lantern storied poem.

I am here, beneath the line where many fall.
The line where purgatory meets the abyss you forestall.
A place where it is almost pitch black,
Just you, silence, and naked to all.
Shuffling your feet slowly before going down to crawl,
In fear of every step being the last.
The thoughts run past beyond control,
Of mindless regrets.
The silence offers no distraction,
So the nightmares are vividly kept.

Tears run, but the drops that touch the floor make no noise.
The sound of breathing becomes unnoticeable...
The mind playing sounds as decoys.
Insanity starts to arise...
the panic drowns your very lungs..

Across the way, a small flicker of light can be seen
A light coated in amber.
A man walking with a lantern,
Walking closer and closer.

He hands you a tattered garment,
Placing the lantern by your feet.
The ground is barren grey,
The light flickering from his jet-black eyes,
Giving an almost human sight.

"...Who are you?..." I ask.

"I am also a fallen... and I have watched many crumble in blight.
I have become accustomed to the dark...
And so I am here as your guide.

Here, wear this cloak,
It will help you, you'll soon see.
Oh, how wretched this place be...

Those that Long dream to fix broken dreams,
Piecing them together to complete,
Thinking this will set you free,
But far from freedom, form by those that go alone,
here is your final retreat.
Your slumber until you have reached
The mindset you're destined to be.

But destiny is inclined to a slope, in favor of the abyss.
So tread with focus, grip, and strife.
Upwards is your only way,
For true destiny is given to those who fight.

There is nothing here...

The lantern you see is fashioned by bones of the rib cage.
The fuel is my blood, fermented into oil.
The wick made by the surface strips off my heart.
Should this be the life you toil.

The cloak you wear is my skin, peeled and stitched together...
Can you go as far as me...
In my hospitality?

Creatures here will ravish your fresh body,
Be entertained by the virgin shivers in your eyes.
Only when you're used to this miserable life..
Do they leave you behind.

Many years may have passed...
how long I have been here...
With no guide to come for me...
The cries have all dried and cracked my eyes..
And thus alas... I shall be.

One must at least guide
The undeserved wanderers that gather,
And take them back to where life had firm footing before it shattered.

So for them to have another chance to rebuild the path that broke...
To return to the lovers that be.
An end reunion unknown to me.

I have far become an expert of the abyss,
To walk among them now..
I would be utterly remissed.
Any she, could never bare the weight of what I've had to become..
The Hope, hurts too much.

But at least here, should I save you, perhaps you might thank me,
And with your memory of me..

Il become a somebody..."

Drifting Wolf 🐺