A soldier in the prophet's team

Why is there an idea in my head to pursue this, Musa?

It’s like a one way street

No turning back

Musa,

You were wanted

Yet you came at a moment, uninvited

You were my gift,

My hope,

My surprise.

I don’t know what you are.

But you are something Allah gave to me.

Musa,

I hope I will fulfill my responsibilities to my Creator

The ones regarding you.

I hope I could win the prize.

I want to succeed.

I want you to fight in the prophet’s team.

Of writing and future

15 years ago

23 years ago

25 years ago

I was writing

And drawing

15 years ago

I was a teenager

Feeling intense emotions

Dealing with them

23 years ago

I was writing stories

Much words on sheets of paper

25 years ago

I drew on surfaces

To express myself

Why do I recount these?

Had all these years only been 30?

Had all these years been so little?

Meaningful, yet, would it be enough to redeem a place in Paradise?

I used to love to compose

And it would be so satisfying.

After 30 little years,

I am now a mother.

Irreversible.

Has it only been 30 little years,

Listening and learning right now,

Makes me feel unfortunate and unsure;

Would what I have with me be enough?

And, what of the future?

Mysterious and daunting.

No promises of Paradise.

Worry and hope.