Za7ra Sulaiman Poems

Without the winter, we wouldn't appreciate summer,
When blossoms burst forth, a vibrant new drummer.
The chill in the air, the frost on the ground,
Teach us the beauty in warmth that is found.
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I'll always be the barista, giving away every cup,
Ones destined for other hands, ones never meant for mine.
I pour the rich, aromatic brew, my heart held up,
Watching as strangers take a sip, their smiles intertwine.
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What if I get everything I ever want and it's still not enough, the money, the clothes, the house, the career? What if I get it all and it still isn't enough because I don't have you? What if it brings me back to all those years ago when I realized no amount of money or career or tangible things could ever equate to what we had and our puppy dog love and everything we shared and our laughs and our cries and our talk about a future. What if it's never enough, because the future I created no longer has you in it, while I find myself wishing on stars and picking up pennies like they'll grant me some form of redemption. What if I find the man of my dreams and he is everything I'm supposed to want, kind eyes, steady hands, good intentions, and he gets on his knee and the memories barrel through me. What if I realize I don't want the man of my dreams? I just want the man that haunts them
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I'm sorry, my love, that I haven't yet healed,
The wounds in my heart still so raw and unsealed.
I wish I could give you the pure, untouched love
That your gentle soul so clearly dreams of.
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Chosen by the divine,
A love so pure, so sublime.
Blessed by the Almighty's grace,
Guided through life's endless race.
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la tahzan, Do not grieve, Allah is with us

In the depths of sorrow's embrace,
When the world seems dark and bleak,
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Can I ask you something, if you don't mind?

Was it easy to leave, to walk away?
To say nice things, then not stay?
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I made you think that I would always stay,
I said some things that I should never say.
Yeah, I broke your heart like someone did to mine,
And now you won't love me for a second time.
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i want to go back to Gaza and lay on the sand
Beneath the ancient olive trees,
The soil whispers tales untold.
A tapestry of history,
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A veil of gray, a shroud of woe,
Enveloping the soul, a constant flow.
Sadness, like an unwelcome guest,
Lingers on, denying any rest.
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