She's in a constant state of comfort, pure bliss
Knowing she wouldn't be pricked by a thorn,
If it wasn't for the smell of rizq colouring His roses
She's in a constant state of purity
As His clouds turn into heavy storms above her head
Gently rinsing away the bad, returning her only for the good
She's in a constant state of obedience,
As gratefully awake she is
Her eyes let go of tears with utmost ease
Honoured, they fall and sink into the lowest of grounds
Only to join His droplets of rain, humble, in their firmest sujood