- in the name of Allah -
some memories are born as roses, with our eyes blind to its thorns,
then grow their way into pain, as we cut our mind on promises worn.
along the way, some may choose to let them fade,
like a flower past its bloom, laid as hope wreathed upon a grave.
for a time, this was the choice for my self I made,
to fall upon a sword, and relish the only thing to feel as pain.
but glory all belongs to my Rabb, who decreed my path not done,
He brought back to life those roses dried, in splendor beheld as light.
thus for now, with all the days of mine on this earth remain,
just planting seeds for tomorrow, so they might shine in His shade.