Being A Mom

Being a mom is difficult.

Being a mom trying to find time to shower is difficult.

Being a mom trying to find time to eat is difficult.

Being a mom trying to find time to do laundry is difficult.

Being a mom trying to find time to cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner is difficult.

Being a mom who pumps is difficult.

Being a mom who is trying to stop your milk supply is difficult.

Being a mom who oversupplies is difficult.

Being a mom who supplies just enough is difficult.

Being a mom who undersupplies is difficult.

Being a stay at home mom is difficult.

Being a part time working mom is difficult.

Being a full time working mom is difficult.

Being a mom of a child with medical conditions is difficult.

Being a mom of a healthy child is difficult.

Being a mom is difficult.

It is hard to invest every waking moment into your child. It is hard to lose endless hours of sleep. It is hard to forget about the person you once were. It is hard being a mom with postpartum depression and still yet moving forward.

Everyone tells you about the sleepless nights, about the endless diaper changes, and about how expensive it gets. Yet nobody tells you about the spit up stained shirts, the excessive hours of pumping, the struggle of hearing your baby crying, the never having enough time in a day.

Nobody tells you just exactly how hard it will be.

Nobody tells you thank you for how hard you work.

But you are a mom. You are a hero to your baby. You can have them from crying to comfortable sleeping in your arms. You are the savior of your baby. You are the producer of their meals. Your baby is what makes it all worth while. To be able to watch them grow. Take their first steps. Saying their first word. Growing in their first tooth.

You are a mother and at the end of the day you feel like your work goes unnoticed just know, your baby is proud of you.

Proud of you as their mom.

You are doing a great job, don’t be to hard on yourself.

You ask …..

Allah gives.

You cry …….

Allah listens.

You call ……

Allah runs.

You sin …….

Allah forgives.

You knock …..

Allah opens.

You attend …..

Allah welcomes.

You request ….

Allah accepts.

You question ……

Allah solves.

You plea ……….

Allah resolves.

You take ……….

Allah provides.

You insists …….

Allah grants.

Everything you do is about you

And everything Allah does,

is about you.

So

Which of the favors of your Lord will you

deny?

Begging For Relief 

In the middle of those dark hours of lonely nights filled with pain and despair, and sorrowful litanies,

my heart does borrow from tomorrow’s hunger

trying to gain some freedom from all suffering

when the moon darkens overhead;

I am all alone with my fears and tears falling down from my eyes…

When will my body, and soul be free from pain and deep dark dismay,

of depression?

When will Allah grant me the moment of joy and peacefulness,​ strength without self doubt ?

When will prayers become easy-flowing from my heart and lips?

Allah grant me ease from my suffering make my faith stronger than before

I beg you, for I am your humble servant , following the religion to the best of my ability .

Life Is Short

It was early in the morning at four,When death knocked upon a bedroom door,

Who is there? The sleeping one cried.

I’m Malkul Mawt, let me inside.

At once, the man began to shiver,

As one sweating in deadly fever,

He shouted to his sleeping wife,

Don’t let him take away my life.

Please go away, O Angel of Death!

Veiled Women 

Her long, thick, shiny red hairFell against her back.

Her rich, white alabaster  skin

Gleamed in the sunlight.

Her slender figure outlined,

With her soft voluptuous curves.

But when she stepped outside,

She became a ghostly figure of the night.

Nothing more to the people

Than a dark, shadowy figure of oppression.

But she showed them.

As she walked down the street,

People made way,

Men lowered their gazes in utmost respect.

And others whispered,

As she held her head up high,

With pride in her belief

And showed them how oppressed she really was!

While they whistled at their women,

Looking them up and down as they were

pieces of meat to be inspected?

She pitied their savage ways.

As she walked into the arms of

her partner,

Her only love,

Her husband.

Where she was transformed,

Into her beautiful self,

For only his eyes to see.

 MY BELOVED !

MY BELOVED…
There was a time in my youth,

When Islam was only a custom.

They said “say La IIaha IIIa Allah,..

And pray, you’ll go to Heaven.”
Ah, how simple, no struggle in this,

Just a word, and simple act.

Thereafter I’m absorbed in this world

again,

With my ‘assured’ place in Paradise intact.
But this was not to be my fate

For ALLAH chose to guide my heart.

I learnt of a man who struggled so hard

When his mission was from the start.

The story of someone who had morals,

Spoke gently, kindness he knew.

Never fearing to say what’s right,

His conviction in ISLAM was true.
The touch of his hand was as soft as silk

To comfort a crying child.

To mend his clothes, or do the chores,

Never complaining, he always smiled.
A living he made with his bare hands,

The same that held his mighty sword.

Valour shone from the edge of his blade,
His smell was always of musk,

And cleanliness he kept at his best.

Stark contrast with the heroes of today,

Who stink of beer and sweat.
He held the hands of his companions.

Unashamed to play with many children.

So modest, so humble, a perfect example,

That strangers could not recognise him.
His eyes slept little for nights were

precious,

His prayers he treasured much greater.

To pray Tahajjud in the depths of night,

Seeking forgiveness, and nearness to his

Creator.
He broke his tooth for me at Uhud,

And bled for me at Ta’if.

He cried for me, tears of concern,

Just so I could have this belief.
His enemies admired his teachings,

Uniting every religion, every clan.

Till ISLAM came to every corner of the

world,

O, but indeed he was only a man.
To own a house, or build his wealth

Was not his main priority.

To establish ISLAM was more essential,

To bring us under a Higher Authority.
Don’t you want him to plea for your case,

When before ALLAH-The Judge-you stand?

Don’t you wish to be around his fountain,

A burning desire to drink from his hand?

So I love him more than all creation,

My Leader, my Humble Prophet.

Muhammad (SAWS) was a mercy to all mankind,

And to me, he is………………..
MY BELOVED !

Side By Side

They lie on the table side by side –
The Holy Quran and the TV Guide.

One is well worn and cherished with pride.

Not the Quran, but the TV Guide.

One is used daily to help folks decide.

Not the Quran, but the TV Guide.

As the pages are turned, what shall they see?

Oh, what does it matter, turn on the TV

So they open the book in which they confide.

No, not the Quran, but the TV Guide.

The Word of Allah is seldom read.

Maybe a verse before they fall into bed.

Exhausted and sleepy and tired as can be.

Not from reading the Quran, from watching TV

So then back to the table side by side,

Lie the Holy Quran and the TV Guide.

No time for prayer, no time for the Word,

The plan of Istiqama is seldom heard.

But forgiveness of sin, so full and free,

Is found in the Quran, not on TV