بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

wish i had thoughts worthy of being read, worthy of your eyes, and something not quite as empty occupied this space, so something brighter could ease your mind. can't tell how many ribbons this life will cut me into, even as days appear on the surface not so bad, the apartness is a silent blade, long spinning inside, the pieces i'm into, numerous, uncountable, like all the salt in an ocean, dissolved and with blood mixed in, nearly to the point fate intends that to be my solution. happiness escapes my clutches like a bird's broken wing prevents its flight from predators and dangers, on one hand is the lure of the devil, waiting to tear down my shell, and lately on the other, simply quiet or sleep. Rabb, would You not simply permit the bird to fly? fix it's way or let it glide, maybe give it a gust of wind so all its worry may be left behind?

there's something hopeful somewhere, reasons for gratitude and shukr, but me too blind to see or dense to hear. the ironies of what qadr demands of me, the strangest, strongest weights i've ever known, only growing heavier with time, and what of i? these joints, these knees, these shoulders and muscles in between, won't grow stronger as i age, so seems the earth is rushing towards me faster than i'll lift from it, pulling me sooner than later to peace.