The Miry Clay!

i would love my hands be musaged

seyisandradavid

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My hands got stuck in the clay

My skin melts into its blackness.

I became one with it!

I slouched through the mush of my decay.

I smelt the perfume of my horrors.

And wept at the snigger of the hollow.

I looked up and saw the light.

I clawed through the darkness.

I miffed through my tears and felt

The sorrow of the miry Clay.

****

My soul sniffed my shame.

My hands shook with defeat.

I struggled to save what was left,

But grasp empty air!

    Love looked me in the eyes and screamed.

Faithfulness hissed at my discomfort.

Hope staggered when I called.

Faith strolled past me in disgust.

Mercy held me close…

And I caught a glimpse of heaven.

I am, but a clay…

________________________________

Can love forgive all sins?

******

I wrote this poem when I heard the story of a woman whose husband repeatedly abused her, physically and…

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By yasmine1221

A Lesson in Gratitude

masha Allah this little boy is praying to Allah, while his in the hospital cause i don’t usually see people do that may Allah bless him……..

A Heart's Echoes

The blessing of health is one that we often take for granted. Yet when our eyes fall on patients surrounded by formidable machines and monitors, with wires snaking in and out of their bodies, we start to really appreciate this great blessing. The hospital scene is one that people normally avoid. Some don’t like to witness other people’s miseries; those anxiously waiting outside of operating doors reading pages from the quraan, those shuffling around while holding their IV poles, those feeding their children clothed in green gowns and a bandana to hide the heads made bald by chemotherapy.  Some don’t like the smell of antiseptic. Period.

But visiting the sick doesn’t only help us appreciate our own health. It also shows us the strength of the human spirit. Sometimes the sight of the sick with their smiles and their animated conversations inspires us to stop sweating the small stuff and…

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By yasmine1221