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and five became four - leaving the walls and pillars of this house mourning your presence, your clothes still there 3 years later waiting to be worn, your father at Salat ul-Fajr every morning in your bed awaiting your call, your mother left empty, your big brother left without his companion from the start, and your little sister with a life long void in her heart

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في سبيل الله

Your companion for life;

Not just this life but also the next.

Your next set of lungs helping you to breathe when Allah has blessed you (His slave), with the hardest of tests.

A man who looks at no one but his wife, who he sees worthy of praise.

“When her beauty is only for my eye’s gaze”.

A woman who is certain she will be loved and cherished, even when her hair starts to fray and turn grey.

She’s certain because he is a man of God.

A man, who for the sake of his Lord will never make her feel worry or lost.

A husband and wife who when their marriage has been troubled, pray their anger and sorrow away.

And they do not sleep without making amends.

Why?

For who knows if they shall live to see the next day?

If he is a true Mu’min, my sister have no fear.

For they are the only ones who see their women as the most dear.

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… So do tell, if there will ever be a man with words like Iqbal’s again.

Let me know of every poem spoken from his soul,

Every piece of art written by his pen.

There would not be another like him,

And the people of poetry will agree.

Not now, to come, or then.

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“The people asked Majnun, “Why do you cry ‘Layla’, ‘Layla’ when she is so dark skinned?” Majnun replied, “Oh friends, you do not perceive real beauty, for while the pages of the Quran you read are white, the words of the Quran are written in a black ink, a black that is as lovely as my Layla.””

— Qays Ibn al-Mulawwah [Majnun] (via intoxicated25)

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Saying goodbye is never easy, but not being able to say goodbye will forever be worse.

“I should’ve been there, they probably waited for me.”

The long list of regrets constantly replaying in my mind; my heart aches and bleeds.

Bleed of guilt and “what ifs?”

“What if I had been a better person?”

“What if I was there?”

“I wish I could turn back time.”

My mind and eyes are a felon crying sin and liability for a crime I did not commit, constantly on the run.

Except I won’t stay running forever. My punishment will catch up with me.

The punishment of staying in this prison we call ‘Earth’ for as long as God calls my life’s deadline.

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… So do tell, if there will ever be a man with words like Iqbal’s again.

Let me know of every poem spoken from his soul,

Every piece of art written by his pen.

There would not be another like him,

And the people of poetry will agree.

Not now, to come, or then.

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