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524 · Nov 2015
Blood Boil
Nahal Nov 2015
Plug in the kettle,
But in your soul,
With settled heart beats,
Your man is cold.
He loves to call bluff
And shakes your mind;
Poorer than paupers
You, fighting blind.
Plug in the kettle,
Put in again
Some assorted teabags
Of taste in men.
Dunk it in slowly,
But it all spews.
What's left for yourself
What can you do?
Fry your tastebuds in
Oil from your part,
Take out the teabag
From your boiled heart.
384 · Mar 2016
The Kite
Nahal Mar 2016
So you showed me your kite
It was green and red,
Yet quite beautiful.
We'd sit on the edge of a bench
And fly it in the fields.
Watch it floating away
High into the universe.
It felt it was part of the majestic clouds:
***** of melted marshmallow.
You let me try to fly it
But I knew my strength
Wasn't enough.
I trusted you though.
As soon as I did
The kite pulled me firmly,
I felt sick.
My arms were weak.
Why, when you did it
You looked so strong and
So candidly powerful.
But when I did,
My life flashed before me:
The potent pull.
After a couple experiences
I chose not to fly it,
I just watched you
Time and again.
It got tiresome.
Tedious and mundane.
Dull green, faded red.
Kite high in the sky
Commanded by the unrelenting wind.
No longer did the clouds appear majestic,
Merely grey, an obnoxious grey.
And once they created raindrops every night
You carried on.
I stopped.
Even with the rain
You carried on.
377 · Apr 2016
Dos Sentidos
Nahal Apr 2016
Que día
melancólico, precioso.
Es raro,
no está
como otros.
Un poco
de sol,
un poco
de viento -
como siempre,
mi amigo.
Los nubes
me miran,
mientras yo
estoy mirándolos.
Música bonita:
batería suave.
Un camino
corto, bonito.
Mira, gira
el mundo
cada día.
Estoy aprendiendo,
estoy creciendo,
es claro.
364 · Jan 2016
Ode to Uncertainty
Nahal Jan 2016
Your face wasn't a photograph,
Nor was it perfection.
No emotion, no sanction.
Very three-dimensional
Very real.
Every inch of your body
Your words, your life;
This is tearing me into thousands of tiny pieces.
Ripped pieces of paper
In an overflowing mountain in a bin.
A scrapbook
Inside live scribbles of my
Dead, overly sensitive insides.
Every single tear dried my body
Of hydration.
Can you die from crying too much?
Syllables of your words:
Promises to being a better person.
But I want to be elsewhere
I can totally close my eyes and
Become blind temporarily.
Regrettably, it was my fault.
My very own words, caused me the hurt
That you then further induced.
347 · Nov 2015
Nahal Nov 2015
Slouched on the bed, legs bent up,
The laptop face beaming.
I just gaze at the screen.
This emotionless laid-back stance makes me think
I'm fresh out of a bath, hair wet,
How relaxed my body feels still.
The heat filled my body like that cup
Of jasmine green tea on my bedside.
Curls are forming at the bottom of my hair;
As they always tend to.
I sit here, no thrill.
As I was en route home,
I had the breeze lashing on my skin,
The wind and the spitting rain,
Splattering on my coat.
It normally creates an illusion of polkadots,
And makeup blackens my cheeks.
I squint to see,
Somehow I prefer this feeling.
Exhilaratingly breathless,
Uplifted and exhausted.
But yet, I am sat here.
Glaring into a screen.
345 · Dec 2016
Fast paced poetry
Nahal Dec 2016
When you skip the rhyme
And you scan the lines
And you feel whatever you can,
Whatever comes to you: it's what I am.
A sobering experience
Highlighting our differences
As I'm allowing the typed letters to form words
And the words, often absurd.
Like the water will hydrate your body and skin
The words will do the same to your mind and soul within.
342 · Jan 2016
Inside vs. Outside
Nahal Jan 2016
Deep inside I am a ball of colour.
Waiting, wanting
To explode into a firework
Releasing, bursting into light.
My tears are colourful:
Royal purple, sparkly, and shiny.
My heart isn't just red,
It's shades of love.

But I am being held down by you.
You're suffocating my colour,
Putting your hand over my mouth
Choking, deflating every bit.
And now I'm like the smog from a chimney:
Dark and coal-like, and I stick to you
Like a horrible odour:
Disgustingly attached.
314 · Oct 2016
Nahal Oct 2016
Ojalá que crezca.
Ojalá que crezca porque
quiero ser una flor.
Una flor con colores brillantes,
al mismo tiempo, una flor inteligente
que sabe que la belleza no es el exterior.
Me das agua porque
con un poquito yo sé que pueda.
Crecer hasta cimas alcanzables
con los pies en la tierra,
y las raíces firmes.

Ojalá permanencia enseñe cosas bonitas:
de la vida, del sufrimiento, y dolor.
309 · Nov 2015
Mother Nature
Nahal Nov 2015
I thrive with excitement when I have mulled
Over when we first met. A wind stroked my
Hand, as did you. But softer, than that breeze.
I cried and wailed until soothed by your warmth.

Not only do I remember that first
Encounter: I recall and reminisce
Over the sunrise and sunset you showed
Me. A peek-a-boo of day and night time.

After the light and dark, I must keep you
Near. You are replaced with a night-light in
The shape of your moon: a crescent-like smile.
Some safety, I cling to you for refuge.

However much I want to need you now,
Let me go and let me do what I want.
Drive cars, use electricity. It's too
Much. High phone bills, but not from ringing you.

Time went on: I changed and grew, you blossomed
In spring time. You brought me gifts I treasure
Every year. You and I are altered. You
Age drastically. I try to savour time.

Things have changed like season fashion. Winter
Means scarves, you are ice cold and white as snow.
Illness. You do not dress yourself in coats.
Mother nature, address us, you are unwell.
307 · Jul 25
Sonnet for Táhirih
Nahal Jul 25
Táhirih, The Pure One, Qurrat al-'Ayn
Poet too, Solace of the Eyes, they say
In 17 the same year as Husayn
Veiled in soft silk proclaiming a new day
Alí granted you a staunch, steadfast Faith
Striking intellect, beauty, and mission  
Vivid dreaming what the Surih saith
The path to equality: your vision
Cover your hair in shame of womanhood
Uncover it for emancipation
Freedom from Iranian clergy would
Prevent your early white expiration

Martyrdom is a choice then it's over
A longing to reach the Friend and Lover
Famously saying "You can **** me as soon as you like, but you cannot stop the emancipation of women!"
Tahiríh, known as the Pure One, was a follower of the Báb and one of the Letters of the Living. She was the only female Letter of the Living, and the only one to not actually meet the Báb in person.
298 · Jun 2016
When I Cry
Nahal Jun 2016
The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.

With a simple sentiment
A tear will shed
And another, and another.

Provoke my inner sensitivities,
And more rivers will flow
Until they reach the ocean of my lips.

With blunt scrutiny too,
My eye will hasten
To water the flowers on my neck.

And love, and love,
And hurt, and pain
All like a citric juice in one’s eyes,
Or the sharp sting of onion,
But not a sad film,
For it should caress the heart
To destroy the stability
And bring forth rain and thunder.  

The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.
295 · Apr 2017
Nahal Apr 2017
I have gnarled, uneven branches
Crumpled leaves, some of which sit at my feet
I am a thick tree
Grown this way since I was a sapling
I am nature's poetry
I am brown and cultured, wrinkled because of laughter
Too I am marked by burn scars and deforestation
I may find my worth in the summer
when my leaves are more beautiful
But I am learning I am worth myself
Majestic in size,
Provider of shade,
And open to life...
290 · Nov 2015
Art is...
Nahal Nov 2015
It's like all those emotions I'd read about:
The artistic, pompous, ostentatious words on a page.

Distorted human feelings,
Showing the imperfection of our design.

Images of bones, hearts, skin,
Every inner and outer thing that makes us this material being.

We could have perfectly soft skin,
But the most un-soft thoughts.

A harsh, "****" exterior,
But the most enchanting heart.

I can't even define what **** means,
Because we're all art and perception.

And no art, no matter what,
Is that.
290 · Nov 2015
And Now ...
Nahal Nov 2015
And now you're just a face in the crowd,
That I used to recognise
Every inch of;
The eyelashes that curled more than mine, and
The teeth that revealed that loving smile.

And now you're just a name in a list of people
Blurred out, no longer highlighted;
Just like a on social media page,
No longer giving me intense, unjustified butterflies.
Oh, how they'd flutter inside.

And now you're just a memory,
A photograph, pausing a happy feeling;
But not truly reflecting the previous, sorrowful
Day or two,
In which I made us both cry.

And now you're just frivolous gossip.
Your name bears this nostalgia;
But can never fulfil me like before.
I know I'm your past,
And will never be your future.
284 · May 2016
Nahal May 2016
Within this semicircle
Lives brilliant sunshine
Lives insecurity
Lives love
Lives awe.

Within another half
Lives the distance of a silver moon
Lives security
Lives love
Lives nothing but love.

And within this circle
Lives you
Lives me
Lives love
It lives.
278 · Nov 2015
That Night's Ideal
Nahal Nov 2015
We'll listen to reggae and fall asleep.
Me, in your arms. You, panting heavy,
happy sighs. Inhalation, exhalation, inhalation. I'm beginning
to dream these vivid images of life:
I start, you stop it. It's you and
me, like this incorruptible bond, feeling like
a salad of cables, of intertwined bodies
awaiting passion and love. It screeches
to a respectable halt. You'll play
those strings and I'll strain my voice-box.
No words, just our reggae tune spreading
via our ears, causing these... these goosebumps.
Tonight's ideal. Slow reggae, beautiful
harmonies. I could perish, let my heart
stop to this song: I'd die *ecstatic.
277 · Jan 2016
Nahal Jan 2016
The thing that we dwell on,
Sometimes reaches a threshold that we
Cannot function anymore we have not
Attained a full level of this
Subjective, unattainable thing; its absence is
depression. These peaks and troughs we
deny are just fleeting moments in
something that will become our history.
Our children will look and say,
You should be grateful, you had
it all: the money, the possessions
the happiness. But it’s not all
that is it? It’s the people
on my continuum. I’ll meet you
and you’ll pass me by on
the street and we’ll never say
hello because you’d much prefer to
be consumed in your possessions and
self. Whereas I’ll meet another and
we’ll share our ideas and maybe
even our lives together. You’ll inspire
me to write about something, or
perhaps we’ll never meet. We can
Only speculate what role you play
In my life at this moment.
271 · Dec 2015
Nahal Dec 2015
A silence drawn by the fingers, and drawn from the mind.
Every emotion is awakened in a slumbering poem that once was silenced by an oppressor.
And "who is the oppressor?" you may ask.
The same selfish dictator that allows empty words to evaporate into the air, and denies the floral mind from blossoming.
264 · Dec 2015
Hanooz Golami
Nahal Dec 2015
Through this lens, I look at a flower
Magenta in colour.
Further along the flowerbed, I see a red rose,
Its petals immaculate.
As the Canon focuses,
As each pixel becomes clearer and more vivid,
And colours more vibrant, I
Snap, snap, snap.
Through my lens, I turn the camera and
Observe your ****** expression;
What do I see?
254 · Nov 2016
Nahal Nov 2016
I can't concentrate when I'm with you
You ****** my attention away
You hide my inhibitions
Immediately and greedily
But you're not culpable
I lose all rationalities loving you
I lose all sense of self loving you
248 · Nov 2015
Nahal Nov 2015
I’m split into two
Then I’m whole
I’m up and down
Then I’m left and right
Full of clichés
Then completely original
I’m gravity
Then I’m space
I’m a mess
Then I’m flawless
I’m ****
Then I’m eloquent
I talk for hours on end
Then I’m mute
I’m glue
Then I’m detached
I’ll run
Then I’ll be stationary
I have many thoughts at once
Then I’m blank

I won’t write poems for 2 years
Then I’ll write 6 . . .
245 · Dec 2015
Tidal Wave
Nahal Dec 2015
Can you feel it right now?
The development of something quite wow
You called me a wave,
I leave the shore, come back, and save
You from this state
I call it fate
I describe myself as a tide
I thought you could confide
In this tidal wave of emotion
Derived from the ocean
235 · Nov 2015
Nahal Nov 2015
I utterly adore the way
You say what you say.
And you inspire me
In more ways than one.
It's the simpler way of expressing
These undue feelings.
Little do I understand my own
Although I try.
But writing about it, singlehandedly,
Enables me a power.
You write with your fingers
But this feels incomparable.
Every word seems to
Divulge your clever thoughts.
I want to be as open as you,
Yet as passionate too.
As good,
As loved.
231 · Nov 2015
Nahal Nov 2015
Kiss my cheek
I’ll feel 100 times better
I know how much you don’t want me to cry

If you kissed my cheek
The tears would have no choice
But not to stream
217 · Nov 2016
Her Hands
Nahal Nov 2016
I picture her hands and
An image comes to mind.
Nails painted red and
Fingers wearing rings of every sort:
Sometimes gold, silver,
A diamond, and even sometimes
A turquoise stone.
Her hands,
Always pristine
Always giving
Somehow she always gives
It's in her hands that she provides
And cares
And devotes
And yearns
And loves.

I will always remember her hands
Because they are the hands of someone who gave me life
If only my hands were so pure
So excellent
So impeccable and
Distinctly memorable.
211 · Jul 2017
Loving love loves love
Nahal Jul 2017
I write about love
Not because I am the best lover
Or because I am the most lovingly loveable
Or am I able to express love correctly
I love love
Love's love
Giving and not taking so much
Selfless and not selfish so much
Kind and not hating so much
Compromise and not greeding so much
That word is nonexistent but love is love is love
A reason for the whole wide world to love
And a reason for me to write about love
Until it sounds like it is no longer a word
210 · Mar 15
Nahal Mar 15
Isn't ugliness powerful
Being **** gives you the power to learn
Or to be
205 · Aug 31
I miss poetry
Nahal Aug 31
I miss the sound of typing on the Mac keyboard
I miss the serif font of the words I observe on the screen
I miss the fluidity of which the words flow out of my mind like seamless fountain water
I miss the inspiration from a deep love
I miss insomniac nights, with bright Apple lights
I miss creative expression
I miss thesaurus searches and RhymeZone
I miss lyrics from frank songs
I miss rhythm and blues background music
202 · Jan 2016
Getting Over It
Nahal Jan 2016
A selfish part
That I will never
Share with him
A passionate part
That I could never bear
To express to him
A beautiful thought
By an **** action
A talentless wording
To a mediocre
Melody ...
201 · Jul 2017
Unfinished Human Male
Nahal Jul 2017
...what has **** sapien evolved into?
Because your psychology will forever fascinate me
The beta, alpha, egos, emotions
You have been by far my favourite category of being to analyse
The solidarity is bliss
Smells, touches, kisses, yearning
Remembered like a stain on my sullied glass mirror
This spectrum that exists of masculinity
The disease of gender roles to be eradicated
The vaccination feminism to be prescribed
195 · Nov 2015
Te Quiero
Nahal Nov 2015
If you say te quiero fast enough,
The beginning almost sounds like take.
That is not to say I won't take,
But I will give so much more.
190 · Aug 2017
= Shower =
Nahal Aug 2017
Don’t you love the way the shower sounds,
Right before you step in?
Water is splashing on the tiled floor of this particular bath
The sounds of knowledge you become someone new
The likeness to shedding old skin
The caterpillar’s cocoon shell breaks away, this newness
A butterfly
Maybe you will smell like pristine nothingness
Or like your favourite branded flower
The water loves every inch of you
And spoils you with its warmth and richness.
188 · Oct 2016
Poem x
Nahal Oct 2016
Very, very often
people compare mental
illness to a
monster. Big, parasitic,
and life-stealing.
I wouldn't not
use this comparison
myself. Because, anxiety...

Its teeth are
cracking my bones,
peeling my skin,
closing my eyes
to the rationalities
of this beautiful,
beautiful world. I
am not, me.  
My thoughts are
destructive hurricanes to
my own mind.
They dig deeper
each time, into
tiny spaces of
my brain, my
soul, and heart.
It's a dark
reality, with supposed
reasoning... but no,
it's a parasite,
growing inside my
head. I try
to think I
am good, but
all it says
is 'you are
bad'. I try
to think, they
like me, but
'I am unlikable,
' in the
face of this
Earth. How can
you greet a
thing that lives
with you everyday,
let alone, how
can you say
goodbye to it.
175 · May 2017
inbox of trust
Nahal Mar 15
The nature of my being
It's absolutely worth you seeing
I'm sporadic and unfocused
My brain swarms with ideas like locusts
The passion and subjection to spontaneity
When I'm sad and lost I pray to a deity
I can be doubtful of self
In these times, my emotions are stacked away high on a shelf
It's almost a cliche, it's a dusty bookcase
You wouldn't even be able to read my, generally animated, face
But get to know me, truly
I will feel everything in a manner: unruly
Right now it's time to know who I am
Ghormeh sabzi tastes better with a meat, such as lamb
Because I'm not vegetarian anymore
I used to be, with conviction, I'm sure
Don't tempt me with your lips
That's if you're looking for relationships
Tempt me with your personality
I want a sense of familiarity
152 · Dec 2015
Nahal Dec 2015
And as I was admiring your beauty,
You were melting away...
149 · Mar 2017
Some Starry Nights
Nahal Mar 2017
Impressionist blackness smudged around my eyes
Look into my dark, marmite irises and you find a deep sorrow
The depth like Van Gogh's sky's fathomless heights into the universe past dusk
Paused but the motion is undefinably disorientating
The rubbing of my eyes
Spreading of stars across my face
I am sobbing forever and ever
142 · Jan 2016
Nahal Jan 2016
Let's not build anymore memories
Before we live to try not to remember them.
136 · Aug 2017
Persons 1-5.
Nahal Aug 2017
One. Your curls are meticulously moussed
That is how it sits on your skull so perfectly
Rounded and beautiful
Your smile resounds some kind of light when you allow it to show

Two. Worldly green eyes
Holding so much in
Don't hesitate to break the shiny glass that seals the nature from breaking through
The blinks and movements speak so much more

Three. Your face interests me beyond words
All the sharp edges and peculiar turns
A windy road provides path to expression on your stunning face
Please never stop talking

Four. Your skin is gloriously golden sunshine
Enkindling the kindest, most empathetic inklike irises
And your laughter, sweet
Sugar cane

Five. Patterned skin
Lines and lines
Wonderfully experienced
Let's travel along your skin like a railway
130 · Jul 2017
Moon, sun
Nahal Jul 2017
What is happening to me?
Rather than growing up into the tree, that I'm meant to be
I am becoming the monster I always knew
The monster I never looked up to
Who never lived under my bed
It has been said
Rather next to my bedroom
You take the life out of me, and it's way too soon
I am only young
This little tree's life has barely begun
You feed me worse than Oliver's gruel
"Sir, can I have some more?", no you absolute fool...
No, I do not want anymore of your negativity
Shoved down my neck, regrettably
I am going to say goodbye when I am done
Done with you, the moon, and I the sun
Perhaps my rays were too much for you
I ended up blinding you, too
Glaucomic ... You say I'm blinded by love
Take it, shove

You're meant to know more than me
And teach me how to be
But I guess I'll settle for this monstrosity
129 · Jul 28
Mindful / Mindless
Nahal Jul 28
Shut your eyes.
He's late, surprise surprise.

Try to pray.
He's gone how many days?

Breathe and meditate.
Forget the date.

Walk slow and observe.
Is he what I deserve?

Don't think about reality.
Did he make a pass at me?

Heart rate drop.
Arrive at the shop.

Think deeply.
Shop cheaply.

Peace within.
Put out the bins.

Be present.
Feeling really absent.

Speak gentle.
Am I mental?

Experienced through material.
117 · Mar 19
Sonnet for Hujját
Nahal Mar 19
History tells stories of epic truth
This recounts an upheaval in Zanján
The Báb's blazing influence in his proofs
Opposed by the Mujtahids of Iran
I see the light of enkindled heroes
Dissolving ties of worldly attachment
Souls' lives sacrificed through horrendous blows
Causeless bloodshed, we ask, to what extent?
Formidable Hujját, in God, trusted
Struck dead by cannon, wife and young baby
For mere appeal to the Sháh for justice
Her name was Khadíjih, his was Hádí

At last, though suffering, he did not grieve
In heavenly blessings did he believe
The Báb was the Herald of Bahá'u'lláh the founder of the Bahá'í Faith. The Zanján Upheaval comes from stories of the Dawnbreakers. Opposing the Báb's new Revelation about the idea of the Promised One, it was a ****** battle killing many of His followers in a village called Zanján, Iran.
This particular sonnet focuses on a key individual who sacrificed his life, Hujját whose original name was Mullá Muhammad Alí. He was an ecclesiastical renowned for his knowledge who eventually came to recognise and accept the Báb's teachings upon investigation. The end, prior to his own martyrdom, his child and wife died due to a cannon striking the home which they stayed. This was because the Iranian clergy and Shah opposed his belief in the Báb. His words were:
“The day whereon I found Thy beloved One, O my God,” he cried, “and recognised in Him the Manifestation of Thy eternal Spirit, I foresaw the woes that I should suffer for Thee. Great as have been until now my sorrows, they can never compare with the agonies that I would willingly suffer in Thy name. How can this miserable life of mine, the loss of my wife and of my child, and the sacrifice of the band of my kindred and companions, compare with the blessings which the recognition of Thy Manifestation has bestowed on me! Would that a myriad lives were mine, would that I possessed the riches of the whole earth and its glory, that I might resign them all freely and joyously in Thy path.”
115 · Jan 9
The syllabic heart {8}
Nahal Jan 9
Eight mere syllables to pour out
Pour out the melody of my
Poor little, worn out, ****** heart
It does not sit well on a sleeve
Do some cardio exercise
To pump real lifeblood around it
It demands drama and passion
Considering its outer life
Has not even a slight rhythm
111 · Jul 27
The Smell
Nahal Jul 27
The smell
It made me well

I realise
There's a guise
Behind those

Eyes, tears stream
An azure beam

Dreams, this odour
It made me colder

Older, a nostalgia
A fear
A dear

Of the past
That didn't last

A smell that haunts to bits
A mix of smoke and musky perfume spritz
108 · Aug 2017
Size 12
Nahal Aug 2017
I want to hang here
In love with this size 12, rotund shape
I want to look at every single body positivity page on Instagram
Until my belly laughs and loves itself
But I want to just be
Be my skin
Without being shamed for the fabric that fits around me
99 · Jul 2017
Nahal Jul 2017
Your hollow pupils have penetrated the light I am trying to create
Constricting in the ever so dimmed attempt at shining  
You're constricting yourself in this life in fact
Hulkish hues paint your pore-filled skin

Even in this way that your eyes are in my direction
I sense the tense, debilitating anger you feel
I am therefore trying to strengthen every atom in my body
And every cell in my skin

To teach you to yearn rather than fight
To cry and sorrow rather than battle in this never-ending war
You versus yourself
The I versus me, a mere lexical difference

My pores are even struggling to breathe, the way you look at me
Like my lungs are in this moment
Like a weight is constantly on my chest
And that air, is too heavy to inhale
98 · Jul 2017
Nahal Jul 2017
If you want to know someone
Read their poetry
97 · Jul 2018
Oh dear...
Nahal Jul 2018
His smile melts me
Like a vanilla scented candle
Diffusing the fragrance to nearby nostrils
I stink of infatuation
Falling for the six foot two body
And the sweet bloom jasmine soul
Jeep dream adventures
**** fried chicken

Just friends

Sobriety from fantasies
I remember now
95 · Jul 27
Soul Food
Nahal Jul 27
Spending every moment of the day with you
would be quite tiresome
exhausting my soul to the point of starvation

I am in need of a spiritual nourishment
a nourishment that strengthens me
feels as healthy as a vegan dhal on a Saturday afternoon
Nahal Jul 25
Her Divine Father named her Fatimih
Graceful, gentle the Greatest Holy Leaf
Likened unto Mary or Táhirih
Branching from Oneness, the gems of belief
Her Father, exiled country to country
To the Servant of God years junior
She forgave hardships with serenity
Comforting her Great nephew no sooner
Tender-hearted nature of kindliness
Eloquent tongue painting language like arts
Her spirited ocean eyes would profess
Love that penetrated souls and cold hearts

After eighty six years of mortal strife
She soared to the bliss Abhá afterlife
Bahiyyíh Khanúm was Mirza Husayn Alí's (Bahá'u'lláh's) daughter, younger than Abbas Effendi (Abdu'l-Bahá). Born in 1846, she followed her Father through all the exiles to Adrianople, Constantinople, and more. She was known for her grace, kindness, forgiveness, amongst many other spiritual qualities despite all the hardships she faced with her family.
Her story is fascinating and inspiring as a woman renowned in the Bahá'í world, much like Táhirih, and other female religious figures like Mary, Fatima and so on.
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