SAIMUM: A Desert Storm

Operation Tel Aviv 1 is gonna reach 1K reads ahhh i gotta start working on this series again. This series has an IMMENSE potential; it changed my life (the bengali version), and i am hoping i can get to a wider audience in a way that suits itself. Whoever is reading this, made dua for mee <3

السلام عليكم 
          jazakiAllahu khayran for all the love you have showed on my book, Scarred ❤️ I appreciate it a lot !!!! 

a small token of kindness [ 17th september 2025, wednesday ] 
          
          broken fury, dead incitement, delirium stitched in emotions. yearning winds, fanning destructions, branches that bury their homelands. 
          
          systemic disorientations, horrors owed to joys that bleed. mysterious differences, confusions constructed, alarms that ring but souls that refuse to awaken. 
          
          blaring conquerors, forgotten tunnels, coffee cooling beside unmade dread. thrumming fingertips, raging purposes, metamorphosis: humans crawling, carrying everyday banters. 
          
          the sun with a thousand eyes, the night with hidden crimes, feathers drowned in poet's ink. sorrows of lyrics, wings lost in the blue, life that feeds one melancholy, souls distilling it into hope. 
           #adropofhumanity

a small token of kindness [ 01st september, 2025 — monday] 
          
          words plated in heirlooms, heavy with light,
          tinkling cuts, dazzling wounds —
          weaponry forged from childhood gloom,
          wars cradled in a mother’s stolen womb. 
          
          windmills bow above folded clothes,
          grandmother’s peach crumble cooling on the sill.
          cottages lean, tethered with ghosts —
          growth a gamble, memory the wager. 
          
          tender hearts rest in greasy hands,
          coloured proses, begotten rhyme.
          measuring the gaps of fleeting hours,
          tidy rooms against the storm of rest. 
          
          roads of chemicals, an age of hearts,
          souls displaced, refugees of home.
          effervescence rushes, skeletons mist-bound —
          a tale as old as precedents. 
          
          labyrinthine dashes, nuance permitted,
          olives of faith, olives betrayed.
          a marathon — glass slippers sublime —
          and all of life becomes a floor for dancing,
          a garden for incitement,
          a bloom pressed against time. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a token of kindness [ 24th august, 2025 — sunday ] 
          
          where comes the chaos? soar and sin, the culprit,
          from the lodging inns. surrendered and sought,
          beavering, bold— a little of the timid, a lot of the known. 
          
          swinging with pride, doors left unknocked,
          a guest invited under intoxication’s hold.
          forging, jeopardising, guided by homely apple-pie servings; bruised words swept beneath the rug of humility. 
          
          barks and bellows, odours, open wounds,
          entangled chairs and a single creaking move.
          whisper, then wait, tremors that carry
          a mouth of screams— beginning and dying
          in a parched throat. 
          
          kalopsia and kites— a guest like ropeburn,
          pricking like wine. mindful maps, mindless routes,
          sanctuaries like lies that bury the truth.
          shadows stumble, shoes fade—
          a blessing strikes a menace, transforming a paper cut into a prayer. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a token of kindness [ 18th august 2025, monday ] 
          
          "green and gold, bumblebees and blooms, notorious affairs of the innocent homes; half of wounds are entombed in windy trails, while the remaining lie maimed in terraces aged. 
          
          eye and a wisdom tooth, bear and tear, wavelets of death caressing the feeble veil; garbled silences in pictures hung, hung were the joys of the crusted youth. keepsakes assignable, september — a bright shy; one step of risk, one step of ice. 
          
          cliffs and cuts that swallow the shore, earth is an art with its slinky tides and falling feathers; rhythm and rhyme mold the blood, like granules of sand that recognise a home in your skin. 
          
           liquor and tea, a prison and a poison; every scream becomes a rotten whisper. quite a wonder, the heart one carries with pride, the same which injures the soul — punished with suffocation behind clasping ribs, where it beats and beats, severing its rest."
           #adropofhumanity 

❝ I Had Closed off all avenues to Your grace,
          But then, I found myself at her doorstep, seeking solace and pace.
          And what an astonishment that You made her to heal and renew,
          So with gentle care, she led me back to You. ❞
          
          Salam! If you get time, check it out! You never know, you may find yourself adhering to it! 
          
          https://www.wattpad.com/story/376182598?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=Royalty_Reserved
          
          If you’re interested in historical fiction, this shall, God Willingly, certainly satisfy your thirst! 
          
          ❝ In Which The Dignified Scholar Was Lured Into The Darkness By The Devil Only To Be Moulded Into A Monsterous Killer ❞
          
          https://www.wattpad.com/story/376230697?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=Royalty_Reserved
          

Hi, hope you're doing good !
          My apologies for posting without your permission but it would mean a lot if you could try giving a chance to either of my stories " Ghost-Struck" which is a mystery filled rom com or " The Eid Cute" and leave your thoughts about them. 
          
          Have an amazing day/night and take care!
          
          P.S. nice to see a fellow Bengali!

'Fi-amanillah.' Hanging up the telephone, Ahmad Musa stretches out on the revolving chair. Exhaustion wears out every inch of his body. Drowsiness creeps into the threshold of his eyes. Suddenly the Muazzin's voice scatters away the dome of silence from above him. The tune of Adhan flows from the tall minaret of Amman's Royal Mosque. 
          
          The honey-sweet melody of Adhan reverberates and dissolves in the infinite emptiness of the firmament. The Muazzin reiterates, "Hayya 'Ala as-Salaah". Ahmad Musa's heart goes out to the Muslim community in Jerusalem. Are his brothers and sisters listening to the Adhan the same way? Is the Muazzin being able to relay to them this message without the oppressors constricting his throat? Edges of his eyes become drenched. How far till that golden horizon of freedom? How long until the Muazzin's free and vibrant voice resonates again from the minarets of Tel-Aviv, Haifa, Eilat, Hebron and Jerusalem?
          
          The divine brush of daybreak paints the eastern sky bright. Ahmad Musa stands up to perform wudoo. 
          
          ~~~~~~
          An excerpt from chapter 8, Operation: Tel Aviv-1
          
          To see Palestine liberated is all of our dreams.  The Palestinians are a chosen people, they're the strength of every single oppressed Muslim. We wish we could have taken part in this struggle with them towards the freedom of our first ever Qibla - our beloved Masjid Al Aqsa.
          
          While most of us have our hands tied, we can still stand by them by mentioning them in our discourse with our Creator. Allah will surely relieve us from the agony of not having any role to play in this scenario. 
          
          Allah already has it all planned out. 

Hello! I recently stumbled upon the story of "Saimum" in your profile. To be honest, I am very interested in the story. 
          
          The question I have is, are you still updating it? Thanks in advance.