When Eyes Became Judgment Poem by Yousif Ibrahim Abubaker Abdalla

On behalf of those who may have forgotten the power of gentle words…
We now find ourselves behind glowing screens, where our eyes rarely connect
only reflections of judgment flicker through glass, moving faster than understanding, yet slower than empathy.
A face like a rare moon drifting through daylight is lifted amidst storms of laughter, as if beauty were a flaw, as if being different were a typo in the language of creation.
And people educated like trees that have forgotten how to bear fruit, certified like polished stones that lost their warmth often miss the simplest truth: that kindness is a form of intelligence too.
A human being is reduced to a surface, as if the soul doesn't dive deeper than skin, as if a heart could be weighed
like fruit in a distracted market.
Words now drop like stones into still water each one sending ripples that extend beyond intention, each laugh echoing like metal in an empty, hollow room.
A body shaped differently like a mountain that defies symmetry, or a river that carves its own wild path is often judged by eyes that have forgotten how to wonder.
And so people retreat inward,
not because they were made small, but because the world gazed at them
through lenses sharpened by ignorance.
Yet every face remains a quiet scripture of light skin like varied earth under a rising sun,
hair like threads of wind caught mid-flight, eyes like windows opening toward unseen mornings.
Nothing here is by chance.
Everything is meaning wrapped in flesh.
As the reminder says, like thunder wrapped in mercy:
"This is the creation of Allah…"
a declaration that creation is not flawed only misread by hurried hearts.
Still, every word lingers
every joke, every mocking echo
falling like ink onto pages the world cannot see, but never truly erases.
For even what is unseen can weigh heavily, like dust settling softly on a weary conscience.
And sometimes what is labeled as "difference" is merely a hidden trial, a quiet illness,
a body carrying storms that no one else can see.Imagine clouds that seem empty until they finally release their rain. Let's take a moment to relearn how to see each other, as if every face is a delicate poem unfolding something not to be consumed, but rather something sacred that deserves our understanding.