صائمة

Hello author are u still on Wattpad?
          

In Surah Yusuf - Allah described the story of Prophet Yusuf as the most beautiful of stories. Why? Because regardless of what situation you're going through in life you can relate to something in it.
          
          It teaches us that dreams do come true, hardship will turn in to ease, and nothing is better in this world than loyalty. It teaches us that those with gifts will be hated upon and plotted against - so patience is key. It teaches us that it's never too late to say sorry and forgiveness takes the greatest courage. It teaches us du'as may be delayed but they are never rejected. It teaches us that the best of people have the most difficult beginnings but they always have the most beautiful endings. It teaches us that the affection and care of parents has no boundaries, love can cure, broken hearts can be fixed, and reuniting with those we care about is close. It teaches us that the truthful never abandon that which they believe in, Allah is with those who have no one. ✨
          @Slave_of_Ar-Rahman!!

Hello guys! Sorry for bothering Excited to know how your mental health is, and your ability to understand other person's point of view and also whether imagination is productive?
          Click on the link below and give your mail id in the feedback line so that I can send your result to you. This is my academic research. No personal data will be collected and your response will be kept confidential and used for academic purpose.
          Thank you in advance !
          
          PS . Fiction readers are story book readers and Non fiction readers are people who reads biographies, spiritual books, Self help books etc books with factual information 
          
          https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSd8dX_2Udab9QKk4CXiI0CeScJNjf-HWh1gTYH8YzlAQRX5kQ/viewform?usp=sf_link

Assalamualaikum
          How are you?
          This is my first time writing a book.
          Can you please give it a try.
          https://www.wattpad.com/story/358394795?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=kookiegirl_16&wp_originator=yDpO21hpujKKVHdNLRX%2BdMdeqpXWLHlHkfxBgyf3aekJ7YLlFbXrqjuumhfV%2FeoSsgpKcxcY%2BQYHkaATVQX5hygA9J1KL3tf80lB8ELAGvvg%2BSqvna819mdtA9OnhIWQ

hi can u write a story on polygamy, how a first wife copes up with when a husband marries another wife without telling her
          ?

a small token of kindness [ 28th january 2023 ] 
          
          heart that loves waters of wrinkles, a grave that loves a man of death and bones;  years of cold and hours of a backyard mirrors. floods of decades, hormones of violence; peace of unfamiliarity, an autumn of heart ache. 
          
          a jam of blue as a fight of love, a poet centuries old lurking in the present; lemons and neighbours, peaches and lungs. sins sacred before mercy, broken palms and roads of birth; sunset embroidered with veins, years fossilised with ricochet pain. 
          
          frosted letters, casual accents; love of bruised knuckles, a sip of sacred venoms. fingers of declaration, windshield dust; a lump of liability, a suffocated drink of laughter. an island where a soul sinks, oceans where the bodies bath; a thread of silk that cuts like glass. 
          
          evaporated pressure, fiery torrents; soul frozen and waltz of wakefulness. meadow of dawn, a canopy of a pleaide; frothing yearns and rippling reasons. death so close, yet addressed as cold; not every flower can be sweet, not every good heart can have enough honey. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness ( 21st january 2023 ) 
          
          bruised october, champagne bread; weeping permissions and tightened braids. a mother of brass, windows of pages; ebbs of midnight, divided miseries. 
          
          copper sprain, malachite oxygen; birds of meetings, broken silences. venn of the woods, the wind and the windpipe; foreign vowels, submerged wrinkles. wet crayons, scents of blue; crisp metaphors and pigeon hues. 
          
          palms of desserts, midnight sober; fire that slips, a womb of sonnets. lemonade poems, an annihilating waist; casual grave, a whisper of conclusions. a poet of confessions, a sky of sin; sacred rain, storm antique. 
          
          blurry opals and cigarette soliloquies; swaying septum and a bouquet of tattood ribs. spine of butter, vinegar patio; breastbone shelter, cronus love. white doorstep, a welcome ghost; trees forget leaves, winter shrinks bones. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token token kindness (01st january 2023)  
          
          steadfast sunsets, crooked mornings; lake a crowd of gleaming mournings. lyrics that burn, bones hopeless; tongue of wind, it rarely stays. a future of magma, temple and cityscape; humans among humans, a home bereft. 
          
          a birth that bleeds, a firmament of fleeting wisps; feet smelling of earth, lips a facade, what we appreciate. filigree like rain, a blush of darker reign; summer distorted, desert a burning lace. panaroma of a kaleidoscope, a bard like grackle; pits of doubt and a park of frission. 
          
          jardin de tuileries, seeds of breezes; memory endearments and waves of freedom. satin scents, devoted petals; barricaded branches and canvas of dripping enchantments. convivial music, lily trenchants; reflective denouements, fulgent waterfalls of wisterias. 
          
          violent fears, chalices of secrets; numbing encouragements,  frosted vanilla. oscillating mountains, cloved cessations; tainted vicolos, bricks of dried redolences. parasols of petrichor, labyrinth of moonflowers; tower of desire, rose precipices. keep a smile, with flowers divine; they grow not on well made roads but through the rough womb of mother earth. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (28th december 2022) 
          
          hidden parks and streams like earthquakes; what has fallen, what has suffocated lustrous. burning flocks of yarned succors, thousand cuts on a black december. with darkness there is no sight, no diversity, no light; what is underneath, how much pain unseen. 
          
          spruced thunder and rain that shivers; bones of roses, salt that slivers. rainbow that crinkles and wrinkles evanescent; equinoxes that confess, odes that raucously bleed. naive dew with dragonflies of sunsets, knots consumed, blush of ashes frozen. 
          
          vivid breaths, dawn that palpitates; speckled red that glows, ocean water thickens with native noor.  a fortresses of mares and massacres; persimmons and rose quenched murderers. waist caressed with waterfalls, stories of prison; what if simple steps should be celebrated? 
          
          scarce metaphors, ignited honour; orange burns, peripheral endurance like november's. chestnut crowns, mysterious surrenders; wandering spines and vivacious respect. allow the storm to scream, to be verocious; you must remain silent, you must have it betrayed. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (5th november 2022) 
          
          mouth of honesty, bloody honey; ravenous sobriquets, transparent metaphors. panting edicts, divine passages; unambiguous gravity, chaotic muscles. summer hunger, fermenting sun; mullein breaths, fervent dust. metamorphic roads, joyous courage; naked rage and newborn remembrance. 
          
          exuberant mountains, icy bees; conformed pollen, eclipsed wins. clavicle roots, burning prayers; mediocre comfort, hopeful sorrows. web of confidants, shadows of the known; gentle croaks, hesitant murders. mind a wild animal, a forest caged; auroras and sacrifices, reminiscent repercussions. 
          
          bodies of petunias, breathing skins; blood of stories, water of prison. white cotton whispers, kind demons; alchemy of weaknesses, battling questions. sacred dignity, waves of hormones; rituals of october, bargaining autumn. drop by drop, zest of oranges. 
          
          esprit of mother's milk, primal daughters; lust of earth, a shadow pure. work into exhaustion, round the clock and round the ; there is half of hope alive, half of flesh left to strain. cold is the night, still and mellow; cold is the sun that has wrung itself yellow. perhaps the moon curses its cries, hides in lone pain and white sky, for then it is rarely rejected; unlike storms. 
           #adropofhumanity