Poetry

Not many could find the way to a stubborn heart.
Yet I led you to the path.
Not everyone could make it beat faster,
Yet I almost led you to the core.
Why is my selfish heart still remembering you, only to let every words you inked, vanish?

A Letter to the Woman Who Walks with Heart & Awareness

To the woman who feels deeply,
but never loses herself in the depth…

To the one who gives love,
but knows where the boundary must live…

To the one who smiles often,
but not because life has been easy,
only because she chooses light anyway…

You are not too much.
You are not too soft.
You are not too strong.
You are exactly what happens
when a storm survives itself
and chooses to bloom.

You don’t fix people,
you see them.
You don’t judge,
you understand.
You don’t chase,
you attract through truth.

You live intentionally.
Not for applause, but for alignment.
You’ve learned that purpose means more than performance,
and peace is the prize WORTH protecting!

You walk beside others,
not to carry them,
but to remind them of their own strength.
And if they choose to pause,
you don’t beg,
you bless them, and you move forward.

There is a softness in you that’s not weakness,
it’s your strength wrapped in grace.
You can be fire,
but you choose warmth.
You can be right,
but you choose to be real.

You’ve seen what silence can heal.
You’ve felt what patience can grow.
And you’ve learned that sometimes…
not reacting is the loudest form of wisdom.

You are not here to shrink.
You are not here to prove.
You are here to plant seeds,
and trust the ripple will do its work.

So when the world rushes,
pause.
When others doubt you,
remain.
When love feels uncertain,
return to the truth of who you are:

A woman who builds.
A woman who heals.
A woman who chooses love with discernment.
A woman who knows herself!
And that… is her freedom.

For you, always.
To all STRONG and WONDERFUL women out there 🫶🤍

Maybe I’m just hard to love and easy to leave.

A wife is like a rose.
A rose does not bloom because it rests in a beautiful vase—it blooms because it is watered with care. Likewise, a wife needs more than clothes and comforts. She blossoms through your time, your love, your loyalty, and your gentle presence. For love, not gifts, is what keeps her heart in bloom.

(My Own Quote)

The right love never needs to be forced." ❤️

_ Dear stranger,

It’s been months since I’ve written you probably longer.
I mistook you once in face that wore your disguise.I truly believed I had met you. In crowded rooms, in quiet corners
where the world went silent, in the way he laughed at the corny jokes I only made for you, or how he lingered too long as if it might be our last goodbye maybe I should’ve taken that as a sign. But each time the illusion unraveled, like a name on the tip of my tongue that never quite arrives. I wonder if you are still out there, moving through the same world,unaware of how often I’ve almost found you. Or maybe you’ve passed me already once, twice and I was the one wearing the disguise. Until then, I’ll keep writing into the silence, folding these words into the space where you might someday be.

Yours,
almost._

I trust You
As my mothers who came before
Those who prayed and wept and worked
Knowing Your Help would soon come along
To lift them from the trenches

Those who understood
Tawakkul is an action word,
A commitment of courage that
Must defy passivity;
The sweat upon one’s own brow
A leverage to bring us closer to our inheritance

Make me strong, Ya Qawiyy!
As the shoulders
That I and my ancestors stand upon
Staring Truth in the eye,
Unflinching in the sight of injustice

I am molded
With the flesh, blood, and spirit
Of my elders

I am Yours,
Ansari

M. Ansari
2026

A real women Is Not Interested In Your Money
Or Statues,
What She Wants You Is…
Love-
Time-
Loyalty-
And commitment-
🌹

Your face feature
Something weird driving me to look at your face
A look that makes me familiar with that nose line.

Familiar with the lines that your smile draws on your face when you smile at me
Familiar with every tiny hair that makes your eyebrow, and the lashes that make you look like an angel.
Familiar with your beard that makes you look masculine enough to get my attention.
Familiar with your skin tone that could make a human being high with your brownness.
Your facial features are unique
And it has a unique effect on my eyes
That sense sneaks into my stomach whenever I acknowledge that you exist.

Keep existing beautifully and bless my eyes with it.

The Phoenix Complex

She has always lived
just beyond my reach
close enough to keep me hoping,
far enough to make hope feel foolish.

I have loved her
with the quiet devotion
reserved for impossible things.

She never looked back.

Never promised that if I became
a little wiser, a little gentler,
a little more worthy,
she might finally love me back.

Still, I kept offering her
pieces of myself,
one more sacrifice,
one more compromise,
another name
I used to answer to.

She belonged to the horizon,
always waiting
on the other side
of almost.

She borrowed
the moon’s indifference,
beautiful enough to guide me,
distant enough to deny me.

Every time I thought
I had reached her,
the horizon simply learned
how to retreat.

So I learned
to romanticize the fire.
I trusted every blister
more than every blessing.

If it hurt, it had to be changing me.
If I burned, I told myself
I must be becoming.

When the smoke settled,
I searched the ashes for proof.
Proof that I was closer,
proof that she might
finally turn around.

She never did.

Not because she was cruel.
Not because she was indifferent.
But because she had never
been looking back.

She was always
walking toward tomorrow,
and I mistook the distance
for rejection.

Perhaps that is
the Phoenix Complex.
the quiet belief that every fire
must mean a resurrection.

When all along,
I was only a moth,
returning to the same flame.