an Ode for the Amalgamations of Resounding Grief

أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

some pain so deep, it slices through the skin as a knife, so that the wound can close fast and seem healed, while the cut itself gets kept far underneath. there is no microscope, no x-ray machine, to help identify the roots of agony, because for everyone else outside, the surface is all there is to see. in one of my beloved, i heard of such layers of Resounding Grief, that normal people would be made insane, and lose themselves in drugs or debauchery. but she yet lives, though burnt out as fire does a now-hollowed tree. i wish my words seemed not so cheap, to offer as salve upon the unfaded embers of sorrow, but there is one thing she must still know: through all the things she faces, she is not alone: Allah is her Maker, He Who brought her to her trials, and the One to see them overcome. among His slaves i stand, for my beacon Maahiyum, so her embers cool in gentle rain, becoming fertile soil from which beauty grows again. 

~

howsoever He permits, I'm good with iA.