Wurood

Assalam walaikum 
          I hope you are doing well ✨
          Mind giving a read to my book? Would really appreciate that...
          I will read your book as well. How about a follow for a follow?
          ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
          
          https://www.wattpad.com/story/365402463-string-of-fate

a small token of kindness [16th june 2022] 
          
          meshes of moon scattered on the lake, a poet's grave; a wildfire graceful and kissed by rain. 
          soaked youth in yellow twigs; in boots and noons of malicious spring. 
          sweet as chocolate, bitterness subdued; what is this spring but a death that lures? 
          hands of maidens with cherry blossoms, a cure to the eye and a disease to what lays hidden; mind and magic to the world, a golden lung to the forgotten ones. 
          filled with temper, a baby breath against a caterpillar; white linen doused with earth's cold summer. 
          
          part and pardon, wish and risk; a heart that is prisoned in a cage is not worth a heart that battles. 
          lotuses carved on sour tongues, in places of disasters, of deceit; in cities of citrus. 
          place thy feet in armours of cherries, melted crystals and awakened violins. 
          saccharine sea bulbs, choruses of rainbow dancing as a wizard; aiming for the stars, wrists cuffed by freedom. 
          berries smeared with passionate blood, with nutmeg wounds and hazelnut deaths.
          fill the bowl of the ocean, fill it to the brim; what it lacks is present in drops put into humans. 
          what is motherless requires not a different earth; kindness changes not people, but reveals their raw flesh. 
          
          [kindness does not change people; it reveals their raw flesh, their real identity] 
           #adropofhumanity 
          
          

a small token of kindness [12th june 2022]
          
          the night has its shadows, blue and grey; masked in apple's seeds, agony bathed. 
          stand in the route, be miserly in calmness; there is a devil shrouded in an eye's fountains. 
          drift like a white whale, amidst memories; from aches of cure to cures of fantasies. 
          transcend life from that present on fingertips, linger near bones, where art is kismet. 
          hollowed oranges, skins like lotuses; what we wear, we often throw. 
          a poet's backbone, a shark's tale; foam of taste buds lingering as fireflies in a throat. 
          mangoes, possums, bread and butter; a mouth of cicada symphonies, celestial dust. 
          watch the canary, year to year; dirt and snow emotions, cheeks of the earth. 
          
          shabby braids and cicada musings, burrowed sunsets and pastel bones. 
          metallic connections and feathered bangles, heads of spines and littered passages. 
          vines of grapes, of collectibles and peaches; pain of pollen, eclipsed sun and its eight witches. 
          foreign hands, hums of voices barren; silence heavy, storms and curtains. 
          blues of life and blues of disguises, shadows of night veiled by lanterns.
          maps and strangers, shores and shells; rib for a rib, hunt for a hunt; what you had the courage to bring into this world must be allowed to live, dreams or ephialtes. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          
          (if you had the courage to dream of it, by no means do you lack the courage to live it) 

Assalamualaikum
          Please check out my story if you have time. Votes and comments will be appreciated.
          https://www.wattpad.com/story/287452760?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=library&wp_uname=MaryamAbdullahM&wp_originator=Rf7p4WHWaVzs4fRF1bfF%2BJpZ27Iuy2PjSwy3LxpYd4KvGRh7PBVXZrpMM%2F8w76PEQ7XJUtaP0FGw7mOaZiUSfD4U4Ehtl9quuHfQ1Wm%2BFQIrP%2Bu2Lkt1PiIDWikeSvvg

a small token of kindness (7th November 2021) 
          
          the scalpel defines the wounds of the dense sun, the world but a vanilla skin of the organ; of chrysalis stitches and butterscotch flecks. much of it blends into the greedy seas, into the wilting petunias of the shallow springs and the words of prey that are consumed by the foam of the lunatic cosmos. 
          
          the collisions are where the alike attract and the opposite succumb to a ground of smoldering verses; a casket of collected limbs. vast parts of its anthem are consumed by the purple of the living  wounds; a clean glow contaminated with the wailing dawn. 
          
          marks are left around, smells are planted like the crabapples that grow with desperate blackbirds, hungry are proposed with the helpful pledges of sorrow and the dances of the mothers are engulfed in a crown of their martyred uteruses. 
          
          what one knows is but a thing of newness; a fresh torch of obstinate piety and poetry breaths through flowers of chestnut. sourness of the fingerprinted  letters carry a hundred and twenty furies, each one a call, a summoning to your ten different beings. 
          
          without an understanding, what is love and admiration but a fool's plate of food? any life without a name is a treasure lost to the sea, like the pearl that remains canvassed between origami ornaments. 
          
          what is cherished, is discovered; stared at and longed for. the fumes, the inks, the curtains of disguises, the patterns, the scars and the rib veiled hearts are traced, with fingertips of delicate onyxes. 
          
          the sun and the moon are but the creatures of clay; unknown and unalive. however with identity, they are companions of the confederate roses; of bleeding hands and blackberry silences. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (9th October 2021) 
          
          there is so much in us and so much we can be, like the cosmos that has been under servitude and the black hole that consumes it. there is within the sun a similar attitude; it walks the cobblestone lanes with eyes of the deceased. melted paints it wants to embellish upon the stars and pluck out the shine of its rays to decorate the leaves of autumn. 
          
          the earth moves solemnly, under the strict awareness of the watchful crowd, and it breaths yellow marigolds in hopes of being surrounded by a tree of hope. in it, on it, everywhere around it; lack of appropriate loneliness. sheer visibility of the city lights, blindness to the one from the heavens above the sky.
          
          what an agony, what a pain. jewellery like ice slitting the throat. flowers boiled in acid. the world a place of slaughter. 
          
          life is one, but lives within it many. if we choose to go beyond the doomed number, we exhaust to dust. ankles tied with ropes of responsibilities and hands with households. where rivalry thrives, it is a place of legends. the kind which carries sins and buries the oppressed. 
          
          however what of those who defy the rules? of those who, regardless of the consequences, accept war? 
          they become the kissable sea, the immortal air, the glorious sky and the soft universe.
          
          be the sun, the stars and the sky all together. if they admire you from afar, it is because they each see themselves in you.
           #adropofhumanity 
          

a small token of kindness (7th October 2021) 
          
          the sun is a relative of the old- which associated with the scarves of the dried flowers of the gone days. it has lived through jolts of dreams and eyes that held terror of desperation. the lives that lived only upon the preface of the rays, making a temporary home out of fire. 
          
          and what can be said about the moon except that seldom has it lightened its own path. it has and continues to work for the waves; the blades of which are as sharp as the flamingo's stare. it appears, it flourishes but feels foolish and stupid. it is never there by free will and is pitied upon by the sun's flames. decades upon decades of sacrifice for nothing but a few moments of pleasant lingering.
          
          the sun and the ocean are beautiful standstills; like time that has tasted oaks and horns and like seasons of dare coarsing through sorrows. they hold much; they bury misty breaths and golden glares, and they cherish the crippled yellow leaves like revenge. 
          
          but one must accept that beauty is heavy; a burden like the crisp October that balances between summer and winter. and one must stand still, hold onto elements of protection, the scabbed bits of dressed wounds. 
          
          everything beautiful is terrifying. perfection is wild; the ocean a spectacular depiction. all that which has been cursed by the needle of beauty, has used the thread of terror. perfection dies, what remains are the details. the scabs, the scars, the fine lines of torture evident upon the palette.
          
          perhaps the sun is feared for the very reason. for the love it serves and the fire that it can kill with its venom. 
          
          how else can beauty be perceived? it is common to both life and death and apparent alike in a human's blood and sweat. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          

a small token of kindness (27th September 2021) 
          
          there is a perception of emptiness that is heavily avoided and rolled towards the edges of the wall, where the eyes do not wander, away from connection. 
          
          within the earth, in the home of ancient souls and barren secrets, there is nothing of prominence. for the naked eye or for the one devoid of ache, there is only the dark that engulfs and engulfs all of the light selfishly without a trace of it for the others. 
          
          however, has it not caressed the limits of your mind, that in this dark, in the hollow well of eternity, there exists what is required for the sustenance of many lives? 
          
          it may drink up all of the light that crawls in curiously; in pockets and packets of ease. it is an unsightly form of hunger, one that exists in the fragments of the bone mass, not apparent. but it loves. 
          
          emptiness is a state of power; a slate of dissipation, where coexists the routes of removal and receival. it is a blinding beginning but a bright end. in it thrives that which needs to be preserved and that which has no use in the stems of the seen names. 
          
          above all, and most necessarily, it is impuissant. a cloud of fine edges and a shiny pallete but nothing of strength in it. what becomes its part and what provides it with a backbone is the mind of a human, a creature of sound intellect. 
          
          with your skin, and blood, and your flowers and dead bones, carve the legacies of all your wars upon it. 
          
          find your tools and a cup of tea if you must. embrace the emptiness and begin with it like a painter after winter. 
           #adropofhumanity 

Assalam o alaikum
          Regarding the book Behind The Curtain, I want to ask you for reference. I want a proper reference for every so called fact you've said in that book. Give me a proper well known book written by a learned scholar. If you can give me even one proper reference, I'll let this go. YOU HAVE SPREAD SUCH LIES, SUCH FALSEHOODS. I am a shia, I can say that everything you said in the book is a lie, I literally cried reading that book. You have hurt my sentiments, you called Shias yahoodi??? Lovers of the grandson of Hazrat Muhammad (SAW) are followers of Judaism?? Astaghfirullah. May Allah show you a better path and open your eyes to the falsehoods you believe. Ameen

a small token of kindness (19th July 2021) 
          
          some days are mundane. it is just a characteristic feature of certain weeks or hours to be simply uninteresting and empty. 
          like the sky has no clouds and the night has no stars. 
          like the earth has no human to weep for it and life has no one to appreciate it. 
          like the flower has no happiness and the birds have no will power to claim the sky. 
          
          such hours are inevitable. one cannot move past them without feeling the effects of it. and we cannot skip either with the thought of avoiding it. 
          
          you have to face each day no matter what it appears like. just as the sun that rises despite finding the sky empty and the moon that shines alone in a starless ground. 
          indeed, all days are unique. perhaps they are a little solemn compared to others but they carry their own spectrum of light. and anyone who chooses to understand their range while working with consistency and dedication will find his day improve as time progresses. 
          
          you cannot merely avoid the day or give up on it for the reason that the clouds too were not present with the sun. your time is precious, it is limited. each day brings its own death and each death its own end. each day you live a little and die a little. make the most of your life and feel your end a bit. it is highly neccesary that you passionately fixate your mind and will over what you desire to attain. nothing should be able to separate you from your dreams. you and your goals are precious. and you must fight for them each day, every hour and perhaps even every minute. 
          
          time, my dear, can be clever. it can use you for its benefit and not the other way around.
          
          
          and therefore, you must ensure that you walk the day or even crawl (you need not neccesarily run), if you do not want it to run you.