Poems

Are we shaped in His image,
or does He wear our face?
Ask not 'which'—
mirror and Beloved
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To truly know Islam is to journey not merely by the compass of outward law, but by an inner light that God Himself kindles within the heart—the divine intellect. This luminous faculty, from which intuition and inspiration arise, is no private possession of the ego, but a universal gift, breathed in varying measure into every soul. For without it, existence itself would dissolve into shadow.

Philosophers such as Avicenna named it the Active Intellect: the human mind awakens to knowledge only through union with this higher radiance, just as the eye perceives only through the light of the sun. The Qur'an unveils its essence in words that pierce the veil of appearances: "It is not the eyes that are blind, but the hearts within the breasts that grow blind" (22: 46) . True vision, then, blossoms not from mere sight, but from a purified heart (qalb) —the living mirror of divine truth.
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Love is not charity to be begged for with an outstretched hand, nor a bargain struck through pleas and promises. It is a pull of the soul—like barren land that blooms when rain arrives of its own accord. As Rumi suggests, love does not come when we demand it; it arrives when the heart is open enough to receive it. What is begged for is never truly ours. What arrives freely belongs to the soul.

When the space between two people is free of pressure, when intentions are clear, when one chooses the other from the depths of their being—love breathes. But where obligation creeps in, where emotional chains tighten, love begins to suffocate. Forced affection withers, like a flower scorched by too much fertilizer.
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Life's events are not the same for everyone. You may glance at the books of others, but know—they follow their own plots, walk with their own characters, and reach endings only they could write. Each story bears the mark of its author: their experiences, their feelings, their truths.

The wiser path is to write—and read—your own book. Let it hold your thoughts, your joys, your sorrows, your observations. Fill it with faces you have met, places you have known, moments you have lived. You are the central character, the voice, the witness. Make it yours—coherent, vivid, unmistakable. Never borrow another's story as if it were your own.
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When he thinks,
He thinks in a different way,
Very unusual......
But very prolific,
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I have sold my soul for a piece of bread and a soft bed
A modern world of dread traded for a roof over head
I gave society the wheel as part of the deal in destiny's hand I reel
A passenger on my ride, laziness my guide, a few winks I steal
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A compass points North
Go South to the end of the Earth
East and West reflect
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Remember those days?
You used to hold my hand lest you fall.

Look at the creeper—
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Mahler's Symphony No.8: A Celestial Requiem
By William He

Clouds part, a jagged seam of light,
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Zamzam was bleeding a wound etched deep into the heart of the desert, where tents made of dust and weary dreams once held quiet hopes beneath the stars. We stood together, unyielding in our support for our community in Darfur standing with women who bore silent sorrow, with children who looked toward the horizon, waiting for brighter days. The night was filled with the sounds of terror, echoes of flames and crumbling homes, where lives that once danced with joy were ripped apart by merciless hands. O Darfur, patient land of sand and sorrow, your soil remembers every footprint, every identity, every story that violence tried to wipe away. But we spoke those stories aloud. We carried them in our hearts. We raised our voices like thunder against the looming shadow of fear. The massacres left their mark on Darfur. Blood once stained the sands of Zamzam. Yet the call for justice grew louder over the scarred ground. Even when the earth turned its back, the truth blazed like fire: a nation's dignity could never be buried, and the cry for life soared to the heavens loud as a storm, demanding an end to the killing.
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God is not a person in the sky,
But a power that lives, low and high.
Not just a thing you can touch or see,
But the Source of all energy.
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gecmisin aci sularindan ictim bugun
bogularak.
nefesim kesildi
unutuldugumu dusunurken.
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