I know its been a long time since I came on Revival, and I also know last time I came, I promised I was back for good.. And I have to say i went back on my word. Anyway, having recently attended the Steps to Allah conference, organised by Islamic Network, I was able to witness some live spoken word by Muslim Belal

Hence the small inspiration... (it's not anything wow, but just thought I'd share)

It's been a while since i came on Revival. In fact it's been an age.

But something sparked in me the other day to revisit and see how everyone's doing. It's actually funny how in some stage of your life- you can become so close to people,  and then situations change and times change and things change and it all ends up disappearing. It may never be that you don't think of them anymore, just that you don't have the time to go back. 

To be honest, i don't know the reason why... 

Anyway, i've been well if any of you are interested- and Allhumdulillah despite the many ups and downs i've had since revvy last saw me- i've survived!

Guys please make dua, my really really really close mate just found out her mums got lukemia...request for duas...

Jazakallahukahiran.

United.... winners or losers... you make us proud!

Dedicated to: Suhail (for helping me out with the rhyming words! Thanxz)

My ink is running wild on the paper,
My eyes are flooding with tears
It’s almost as though, the pain in my heart is afraid to face its fears.

I can’t see what I’m writing,
And my paper is covered in blotches
The candle that is lit by my side
Seems not to recognise my bruises

Its wit is wilted and black
As for me, I feel the same
Can it be that something so sad starts
Tearing your insides, and feeding on your pain.

When my eyes are dried and my tears are long gone
I look down at my paper and see what I have done.

The paper is dark and sweaty from my damp and clammy hands
My pen is wet and slimy from that I can understand.

As I turn out the candle and let my thoughts drift away,

Musa AS

Born to a mother so humble and so pure
She trusted in Allah when guards came knocking on her door
Demanding from her daughter, for her baby brother born
But she kindly denied a birth and her mother was already gone
Believing in Allah, she put the basket in the river, letting it drift along
The grief she felt in her heart, beating so hard and so strong
The daughter came up, creeping slowly by the bank side
Keeping an eye on her baby brothers basket on the tide
The basket reached the steps of the pharaohs’ back door
His beautiful wife, promised to enter from any Jannah door
Took the basket from the river and held the baby in her arms
Begging her husband to keep this child so tender in her palms
He was afraid; a boy would be born to be

Long ago in a time we call, the ‘olden days’
I spent my time wondering, of what were his ways

Many books have been written
Scripted with words
Encrusted with history
Some of which were not heard.

Filling the pages with words that he spoke
Full of wisdom and love, peace and justice they’d soak

Returning home they would come the next day,
Hungry for more,
Eager and fuller than the day before.

Each would pass on the truth of his words,
To others who had yet not heard.

Much he tried to persuade and teach of his Lord
Yet the ignorant and blind, would never know God.

As the years passed by, the message was spread,
Through the young and the old, each word spoken was said.

Allah took him from here,
From this lonely world
To be with his Lord