Shelter Above

 

Shelter Above

Bismillah — I must be strong.
The morning whispers: say yes, say yes,
to duties, to faces, to the endless tide
of voices asking more of my quiet soul.

Everything is yes, they say.
But God knows what rests inside my chest —
the small tremor of doubt,
the silent questions that bloom
in the corners of the heart.

Here is a mistake,
there is a mistake.
Sometimes I do not see them yet,
but Heaven sees.
He always knows.

So I lift my eyes upward.
Not to the noise here,
not to the whispers there,
but to the sky that never betrays.

Do not trust everywhere.
Do not lean on every smile.
Trust the place above the clouds,
where truth is never disguised.

My heart grows heavy sometimes —
a stone sinking slowly
through the river of days.
But God is the shore,
the quiet place where the soul rests.

All is in good hands.
Even the storms that circle my path
are held by a mercy
larger than my fear.

I search for shelter
from wandering evil hands,
from shadows that crawl
inside the corridors of thought.

Shade me, O Lord,
from devilish whispers
that try to plant thorns
inside my mind.

Once I wondered about people —
who are they? what do they mean?
Now I wonder about myself —
who am I becoming?

Why does studying feel heavy today?
Allahu Akbar —
sometimes the burden
is not the book,
but the voices around it.

From her mouth
and from their mouths
spill words like smoke,
bitter, restless,
trying to darken the air.

Their voices rise together,
in strange unison —
as if cruelty had learned
to sing in harmony.

Uniform words,
from beginning to end.
A chorus of sharp tongues.

Yet I feel
the story is not finished.

Something still moves
beneath the surface of time.

Earlier, things could change.
A moment could soften a heart.

Will it change again?
Will the wind turn once more?

The night sometimes feels
medeni — frightening,
like a forest without a path.

But even there
a light remains unseen.

So I whisper again,
quiet but certain:

Bismillah.
I must be strong.