| By r4gingbull,
on 03-10-2004 15:37
|
Views : 922  |
Favoured : 24 |
Published in : , Poems |
There is a darkness that lingers in the hole of Shaytawn,
where he whispers to souls he has a chance to feed on.
The evil, it stirs at the name of Allah.
While we beg for forgiveness in the world that we saw...
And the Name becomes food for this hunger in life,
which we utter in pain and when we fall upon strife.
And it wraps us in blankets to warm our cold souls,
as we melt from the stories His Book pages hold.
And in the mists of our passions Allah is what we seek,
though our tongues are too heavy and wicked to speak.
So we search for a love amongst our own kind,
and hurt from the knowledge that there is none to find.
And when we turn to Allah with weariness and hope,
we shudder with anger at the words that He spoke.
instead of submitting to the Greatest, Most High.
We shun what is true with no attempt to try.
Yet we Neil to Allah every day that we live,
and beg for the mercy we refuse to see Him give.
Last update : 03-10-2004 15:37
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