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Some of our neighbours just have dazzling souls,
Having conversations with them, really being able to see them, feels like reaching goals.

Funny enough, some of them act as if their souls are controlled by trolls, when looking it's like their eyes poke holes,
And trying to have a conversation feels like walking upon burning hot coals.

No, I don't seek your pity nor your utmost greedy cheque,
But you have to know, my feet are burned black,
Knowing even wolves live in a caring pack.
From ashes to ashes, we're all really in need of a reality check.

We live in a time where we base the beauty of a rose on erred norms,
Defected by society, making sure every'body preforms,
Do they even care about newborns - getting pricked by society's thorns?
Not the right time yet? To blast those horns.

You tend to look at a person's skincolor,
As if you have a special scale, keep the change - I don't want a dollar.
Acting like you instantly know; that black man - not a chance of becoming a scholar.
For real, your fading colors couldn't get any duller.

A time where it is believed decent,
For your mom fighting - to finally earn daddy's half a cent.
This all smells terrible, we're clearly in need to vent,
But you just keep on going, spreading this toxic scent.

And why on earth are you declaring war against this 'cloth' upon my head?
Let me tell you; the negative you've misread.
Why didn't you ask me about these woven threads instead?
Cause trust me, the story I'm proudly wearing is something you eagerly want to embed.
Shallowness got them waiting on a valueless ♡letter.
Whilst You've sent them a ♡book, containing 114 ♡chapters.. Oh Loving One, if they only knew better.

Darkness got their hearts blindfolded, they can't see.
He, not my brother, has the soul of a detainee.
Whilst Your Light gave us sight, the opportunity to just be and for our souls to remain free.
...

Though, there are times where we don't know how to pursue.
Naggingly we beg You to help us through,
Cause all we want is being so heavenly close to You.

Guide, please help the lost too,
And please ٱلْغَفَّارُ forgive this veiled crew.
Every interaction makes me blue.
Oh only if the meaning to Your divine words they knew..

Almost everyday my soul sang,
Trying to cope with the fact that I couldn't get along,
With those who are constantly whispering another song.

I felt left out for generations,
Not impressed by their so called sensations,
Not dealing the same way with worldly temptations.

To the extent that I almost doubted what we inhaled,
It couldn't be the same, with their hearts veiled..
Made me think about us being scaled, and therefore not wanting to act derailed.

I've left myself out of this tremendous way of living,
Only to hear them whisper what I should be giving,
Parts of my soul and body - why bother, isn't He Most Forgiving?

Now I can't say I do,
I give away parts of my breath whenever I try to exhale - for if they only knew..
My soul is still intact, my body attached to the feeling of obeying You.
Words are like water.
When they are being used well, they become a source of life for every living being on this planet. A source of hope.
When we waste them on the other hand,
our tongues will be the first ones to suffer.
My Love,
With my heart on my sleeve I ask You,
Why You want me to be touched,
By Your loving words,
Which are the water to my mind, my heart and soul,
So that in the end You ask me, about what You by Yourself have given me ownership of.

My Friend, my Protector,
As long as I may feel Your numbing words,
As long as I may listen to Your deep words,
As long as I may see Your words turning into a blazing reality,
I am most grateful, to the extent that You have given me ownership of.

My Guide,
Wandering in the dark,
Looking for what could quench my thirst,
Searching in seas of drought; where worldy lessons burst,
I didn't see - You saw me,
Guessing in dry sand - but now You've set me free,
Now I understand, You are the light I no longer have to miss,
You are what kept me from sinking further into the abyss.

You have given me proprietorship in various forms and in innumerable degrees,
I swear Allah swt, I will hold on to these,
As long as Your love flows through me, like water flows around the world creating endless seas.
Mijn Liefde,
Met het hart op de tong vraag ik U,
Waarom U mij wilt raken,
Met Uw in liefde doordrenkte woorden,
Welke het water zijn van mijn gedachte, mijn hart en ziel,
Opdat U op het eind vraagt naar hetgeen, waarover U mij Zélf houderschap heeft geschonken.

Mijn Vriend, mijn Beschermer, 
Zolang ik Uw woorden mag voelen,
Zolang ik naar Uw woorden mag luisteren,
Zolang ik Uw woorden mag aanschouwen,
Ben ik U meest dankbaar,
In de mate waarvan U mij hierover houderschap heeft geschonken.

Mijn Leiding,
Dwalend in het donker,
Zoekend naar hetgeen mijn dorst kon lessen,
Zoekend in zeeën van droogte; wereldse lessen,
Ik zag niet, U zag mij,
Gissen in het droge zand, is sindsdien voorbij,
Ik snap nu, U bent het licht waarnaar ik snakte,
U bent waardoor ik niet verder in de afgrond zakte.

U heeft mij houderschap geschonken in verschillende vormen en in ontelbare mate,
Hetgeen U mij houder van heeft gemaakt, Allah swt, houd ik in de gaten,
Zolang liefde van U, als water stroomt door mijn vaten.
There is no point in counting plants on this planet if they're fully sprayed with poisonous gunk. But we don't want to notice, we don't want to know or even hear that we are consuming poison. 

No, keep it down! There is enough misery in this world already...

I often think that the way we treat these plants, is how we treat ourselves.
Meaning the tears I shed for this world, get wiped on to the ground by a cold breeze.
Warming my cheek like it does continuously with our seas.
Lord, you have me on my knees! Our plants these days, don't even look at bees, they now care more about fees and poisonous cheese!

The pain that my heart and head are fighting against. By what you have provided me with; compassion.
Other than the ones blinded due to a storm of sand; filled with dispassion.
My eyes can take it, defy every tear. Every single one is the water that the dry, oh-so-rough ground of this planet needs, to provide the opportunity for plants to live on,
to grow on, to go on.

It doesn't seem to interest our plants though.
For when we receive pollen from afar, is what we desire that those should blow back to their own greenhouses; which where bombed flat.
And as long as your peace has not returned. Healthy reasoning to you, is dead.

You want to be pollinated, so you ask the nearest butterfly, a distraction like the tikkeling of an ant.
That butterfly is a traveler, carried through the heavy wind by stories with the most beautiful colors and a wonderful scent.
As soon as the butterfly tells you how it got to your greenhouse - fled from a toad - your leaves let go and your branches feel stinged, as if it was a bee.
Only because that butterfly is a refugee.

It is looking for a greenhouse to survive catastrophe.
It is looking for a greenhouse to provide the earth with more green like you and me.
Increasing the oxygen level, so that you, I and the coming generations can enjoy living and growing on the soil that I had provided for you.

So that, we don't have to pant before catching a breath.
So that, those whose tears are turning rough ground into fertile soil, have a peaceful death.
That butterfly still works so hard, left everything behind, everyone.
Yes! You do the math!

Now if not dead, your arguments should be a lot more weaker.
Much more sleeker.
Yet, you're still telling me it's a fortune seeker.
Have you ever thought that we humans are like the water of the sea?
I mean we all come from the same place, the same home. Like water has its own resting place. The wind blows the water towards the surface of this earth. In order to see, feel and hear what is going on. After a brief moment, that same wind pulls the water back home, back to its resting place again.

Only the water that comes into direct contact with the wind, quickly finds its way home; it understands. Unlike the water that is swallowed up by the stones and sand of this world. That water takes longer to understand, but it eventually will go back home too. And it takes even longer for it to understand, that holding on to sand and stones isn't going to change anything about that.
Poetry runs through our veins. Meant for cold hearted people, whose hearts are covered up with stains.
Until pure love is the only thing on this planet that rains.
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