Poetry

Let's exchange poems, gimme a topic 🤔💭✍️...

The depths of my mind are filled with despair.
You couldn't even comprehend if u tried, Mon Chèri 🥀

Unbroken

Well what do you want from me

Nine lives away , one stored away

I’m ready to explore the pain it seems to grow everyday

Can’t ignore it…

There is a feeling I store I wanna break down the door

Can’t let you go after you leave me where you found me…

I wanna battle more it’s not about settling the score…

So don’t leave me …

Ohh Take this pain I feel it…You made it…

Sameer

“When Words Become Wounds”

⸻

You raise your voice to defend your view,
But lose adab in what you do.
The Prophet said:

“I guarantee a home in Paradise for one who leaves off argument, even when they are right.”
— (Sunan Abi Dawud / al-Kāfī)

What victory lies in wounding a heart,
Or tearing a brother’s soul apart?

“Insulting a Muslim is wickedness, and fighting him is disbelief.”
— (Sahih al-Bukhārī, Sahih Muslim / al-Kāfī)

He did not come to win debates,
But to mend the bonds that pride creates.
He said:

“The Muslim is the one from whose tongue and hand other Muslims are safe.”
— (Sahih Bukhārī / al-Amālī by Shaykh al-Ṣadūq)

And the Imams, his light, his kin,
Warned us what such quarrels win:

“Avoid dispute, for it causes doubt in religion and removes sincerity from hearts.”
— Imam as-Sādiq (ʿa) (al-Kāfī)

Why raise your voice to burn a bridge,
When love of Allah is the only ridge?
The Prophet said:

“Do not hate one another, do not envy one another, do not turn away from one another—be servants of Allah as brothers.”
— (Sahih Muslim / Nahj al-Balāghah echo)

And know, when you mock or tear with tongue,
You injure the rope from which all hearts are hung.

“Backbiting is worse than adultery.”
— (Sunan al-Tirmidhi / Wasā’il ash-Shīʿa)

“One who humiliates a believer, Allah will disgrace him on the Day of Judgment.”

So silence, at times, is better than flame—
There’s no “win” when you tarnish a name.
For our Prophet feared not swords or spears,
But the hate we’d hold in later years.

So lower your voice, extend your hand—
Let rahmah (mercy) be what you understand.
Because when words become wounds, faith begins to die,
And the angels withdraw, while the egos fly.

Keep growing in faith let your character shine, trust in almighty wisdom and his perfect time. Become the partner you hope to find. And seek a halal love built on faith and kindness.

Shiii this kinda outta character but whatever.

To be loved is luck and to love is an art, I mastered the art but the luck was never mine. -unknown.

Aight heading out to work, be good and keep Jamaa safe from good people.

I am Just Tired & I Feel like i have grown weary of this stillness, of a life that breathes but never moves. Somewhere in the dark, I ache to feel the strength of your resolve, something fierce enough to wake my sleeping heart. Night after night I walk beneath the pale moon, and still something waits outside my door, knocking softly, and I no longer have the strength to pretend I don't hear it. Give me your hands, give me your voice. Let me know that you bleed the way I do, that I am not the only one breaking. No more masks, no more waiting, no more spending the little time the night has left us. Come near me, stay with me now, not someday. And if love is truly a language, then break the silence and say aloud what it is you ask of me, before the last candle gives up.

Asiece Yousaf

I am losing myself

I want to be loved and to love

To be held and to hold

To have that heavy ache in my chest when he’s not here

But then that electric burst of joy when I see him

To smell his scent all around me

To be called his and to call him mine

I want him

I miss him without knowing him

Where are you? My sweet love 😣

Some wounds do not heal with time; they only grow quiet. We think we are fine, but then an old season, a forgotten name, or an unfinished sentence stands before us, and we return to the day everything broke.

The greatest loss is not the one the world can see. It is the one within: the trust that never mended, the laughter that is no longer the same, the heart that now trembles before knocking on any door.

We lost people, and with them the part of ourselves that was alive only in front of them.
People say time heals everything. Time heals nothing; it only teaches us how to walk with the wound. We learn to smile, to stay busy, but in some hour of the night, when the silence deepens, that wound still beats in its place.
Perhaps some things were never meant to heal. Perhaps they become part of who we are, a crack through which both light and pain enter.

And perhaps this is our real wealth: that we loved with all we had, and are still paying the price of that love.

Mystic MotivationsAsiece Yousaf