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 .

Soul 

Clay then then the soul was added
Take a deep breath and focus your mind

To your inner
Feel your soul

It is in us 
Man Adam a.s. Was created with clay 

A clay statue 
Then the soul was blown into the clay statue,

So humans became animated 
Take deep breath

Focus your mind 

To your inner
Feel your soul 

It resides inside you
Worship Allah 

With 

Body and Soul
Take a deep breath 

Focus your mind

To your inner……                    

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.