In Allah’s eyes, you are special…each and every one of us.
In Allah’s eyes, there could be a blessing waiting for you.
In Allah’s eyes, you have a shimmering heart.
In Allah’s eyes, your hands mirror His.
In Allah’s eyes, the chance to do the impossible is every day.
In Allah’s eyes, there is no one better than you except the one better in character.
In Allah’s eyes, you’ve given it your all.
In Allah’s eyes, He’s giving you everything you need.
In Allah’s eyes, your walls are transparent.
In Allah’s eyes, your affections reach many.
In Allah’s eyes, you’re the only one who stands in the way.
In Allah’s eyes, your Salam means more than peace.
In Allah’s eyes, your mistakes are no secret and His love is still there.
In Allah’s eyes, truth is all we know.
In Allah’s eyes, we have an infinite number of beginnings.
In Allah’s eyes, you are everywhere He can see.
In Allah’s eyes, you doubt how close you are to Him.
In Allah’s eyes, you are gracious and kind.
In Allah’s eyes, you’re doing right with His special favor.
In Allah’s eyes, there’s only one constant in your life.
In Allah’s eyes, your face shines bright.

By Najwa Kareem

There sitting at the kitchen table
not knowing what time it is
Suddenly surprised by an unrecognized voice,
that of a young boy
an age of eleven or twelve, I presume.
I stand up quickly and walk to the sink,
The boy's voice loudly and confidently projected
through that of a microphone.

His love of God I hear in his call, His love of God I hear in his voice,
His desire to do something good I hear from his soul.

His fitra (nature) unpolluted by the evil, by the gimmicks of an unruly environment.

His innocence I listen to. His innocence and sincere faith in God. His love of God making me cry.
The most beautiful recitation of the Adhan (the call to prayer) by a youngster I have ever heard.
His parents, a parent, or another elder likely having brought him here.

The boy's call called me to my responsibility, to my duty.
A very good thing the adult brothers letting a young boy call the Adhan.

I want to meet this boy. I wish to know his name. Who is he? I want to find him. If I do, I'll tell him, You did a fantastic job. God is proud of you. I think you're near to Him.

I cry now thinking of another young boy who doesn't call the Adhan because he doesn't know how. He hasn't been taught how. He hasn't been taught how by his parents. He hasn't been taught how by the community. He hasn't been taught how by his school.

I cry but not long because like the young boy reciting the Adhan or calling us to prayer, the other young boy who doesn't know how to belongs to God and is in His good care and God the Most Just, the Most Loving takes the best care of all of His belongings.

I cry but not long because the young boy's Adhan or call called me to or reminded me of my responsibility to the other young boy and to another young boy.

There sitting at the kitchen table
not knowing what time it is
Suddenly surprised by an unrecognized voice,
that of a young boy
an age of eleven or twelve, I presume.
I stand up quickly and walk to the sink,
The boy's voice loudly and confidently projected
through that of a microphone.

His love of God I hear in his call, His love of God I hear in his voice,
His desire to do something good I hear from his soul.

His fitra (nature) unpolluted by the evil, by the gimmicks of an unruly environment.
His innocence I listen to. His innocence and sincere faith in God. His love of God making me cry.
The most beautiful recitation of the Adhan (the call to prayer) by a youngster I have ever heard.
His parents, a parent, or another elder likely having brought him here.

The boy's call called me to my responsibility, to my duty.
A very good thing the adult brothers letting a young boy call the Adhan.

I want to meet this boy. I wish to know his name. Who is he? I want to find him. If I do, I'll tell him, You did a fantastic job. God is proud of you. I think you're near to Him.

I cry now thinking of another young boy who doesn't call the Adhan because he doesn't know how. He hasn't been taught how. He hasn't been taught how by his parents. He hasn't been taught how by the community. He hasn't been taught how by his school.

I cry but not long because like the young boy reciting the Adhan or calling us to prayer, the other young boy who doesn't know how to belongs to God and is in His good care and God the Most Just, the Most Loving takes the best care of all of His belongings.

I cry but not long because the young boy's Adhan or call called me to or reminded me of my responsibility to the other young boy and to another young boy.

Nasser and Aliyah met each other for the first time at a picnic hosted by a mutual friend. Aliyah impressed by Nasser's acts of helpfulness and altruism, she asked her friend Nasreen who is the guy with a willingness to bend.
Too soon did Aliyah know, Nasser was more than altruistic, his way with words whispered into her ears. Salamu Alaikum, would you like some pink lemonade or ice tea? I don't serve alcoholic beers.
Nasser was confident, self assured. He thinking to himself, What do I have to fear. Aliyah contemplating at that moment, Is it possible that Nasser and I might be a couple to be and me his dear.
Aliyah's fantasy didn't last long. The picnic on a sunny day ended with she and Nasser in a courtship that couldn't go wrong.
Their coming to know each other for marriage was effortless. Together Nasser and Aliyah went to different places and they talked about many things - from where they would live if they married and moved to how they would raise children so they wouldn't be rude.
Nasser and Aliyah's courtship was taken seriously and their days were fun. They laughed at each other and felt happy eating ice cream while sitting under the sun.
Their families pleased, both set of parents consenting to Nasser and Aliyah's decision to wed, reminded the couple who were also committed to courtship rules to wait until after their wedding day before making love in bed.
A year after their first encounter, Nasser and Aliyah's big day appeared. The couple was thrilled, so were their family members and friends. It was an intimate and joyful occasion, Nasser in a tux with a well groomed beard.
Nasser and Aliyah's wedding day brought happiness and contentment to their hearts. As they held hands at the alter and hugged each other close, they vowed never a day they would be apart.
Smiles shining on the two couples faces bright, Aliyah says to her husband before he gives her a bite,
You look splendid. You look handsome.
You look debonair.
And whispers into his ear, "And I go home with you tonight."

US President Trump declared Jerusalem to be the capital of Israel.

How brazen.
He dare not hide his allegiance with thugs, war criminals, terrorists, thieves, heartless creatures, shall I go on.
He corrupt enough to give ownership of a capital rightfully belonging to Palestine to blood thirsty Zionists.

People all over the world protesting, demonstrating, showing their resistance to Trump's nonsense for more than a week now.
Most of the protests reactionary.
Although the protests are purposeful and necessary, ongoing consistent proactive resistance is what is needed.
Regretfully is what is lacking.

Keffiyah, donned by many following Trump's wicked declaration. The garment of solidarity with an oppressed land and oppressed people & a resistance to ongoing Zionist colonialism & criminality.
Buy One, Wear One, Speak up with One. Educate with One. Avoid being reactionary with One. Be proactive with One.  

Long live Al-Quds. Long live Palestine. May God always protect the Holy Land.

by Najwa Kareem

Smell of fresh air as I inhale
Snow falling on my nose and eyelashes
Cold at the same time not so cold
my hands and fingertips feeling like ice cubes
Tiny snow flakes falling slowly and some falling fast
appearing like dust in the air
BMW and Audi hoods and windows with a light coating
Now it's cold

Tick, tick, crackle, pop
On a blessed Friday they drop

Like firecrackers, flickers of white light reflecting on glass
Creating images of thinly broken ice melting away as they pass

Second by second, pieces joining together harmoniously
Waterfalls painted on windows, I hear a symphony

At the bottom of every pane, each waterfall becoming a raindrop again
Tick, tick, crackle, pop sounds synchronized I think I could spin

Raindrops dropping one at a time on lofty rooftop windowpanes
An order composed with a relaxing ambiance away from the fast lanes