* عبد الجليل *
2014-10-17, 08:10
People may call me 'traditional' or 'backwards',
They may even say I'm too young -
To be dreaming about they day I hold,
My little one.
Yet, as I continue to learn and grow,
I come to realise, that a child is like a seed you sow.
With much love, warmth and exposure to deen,
With nurturing and 2 years of wean,
By the permission of its Creator,
It will submit to its Lord,
With a heart that is keen.
For there is no job in this world more precious than a mother,
No job in the world that results in higher wages,
Than to spend your sleepless nights and tiring days,
In raising the child of your better other.
To know that you have been trusted with a a valuable gift,
One that you carried for 9 months long,
And then cradled in your arms, singing it a song -Of a Praise to the One who caused it to form,
From a tiny embryo to a human did it transform.
The coolness of our eyes, I hope for.
A coolness to all the world.
For, the Mother I long to be, is the mothers my heroes were,
My own mother, mama, ummi, whom words cannot do justice for.
To Umm Sulaim, the mother of Anas Ibn Malik,
Who raised Anas without panic,
Raising him in the company of the most blessed,
May Allah's peace and blessings be upon him.
To Taymiyyah, the mother of Taqiyudeen,
Who yearned to raise the next leader, next scholar,
Of the Muslimeen.
Pleasing Allah was a her ultimate goal,
Leaving a legacy, which would benefit her soul.
The Mother I long to be, is one of a mothering nature,
The one who longs to raise the next leaders,
The next bearers of the Qur'an,
So that together in Paradise, we can walk in,
Hand in Hand.
To all those, who call me backwards,
Take my words and read them well,
Raising a child is but a privilege,
A blessing, of which many are not aware.
So cherish your gift, with the utmost love and care.
Guiding its steps,
Paving it a road,
To a happy, eternal, end.
They may even say I'm too young -
To be dreaming about they day I hold,
My little one.
Yet, as I continue to learn and grow,
I come to realise, that a child is like a seed you sow.
With much love, warmth and exposure to deen,
With nurturing and 2 years of wean,
By the permission of its Creator,
It will submit to its Lord,
With a heart that is keen.
For there is no job in this world more precious than a mother,
No job in the world that results in higher wages,
Than to spend your sleepless nights and tiring days,
In raising the child of your better other.
To know that you have been trusted with a a valuable gift,
One that you carried for 9 months long,
And then cradled in your arms, singing it a song -Of a Praise to the One who caused it to form,
From a tiny embryo to a human did it transform.
The coolness of our eyes, I hope for.
A coolness to all the world.
For, the Mother I long to be, is the mothers my heroes were,
My own mother, mama, ummi, whom words cannot do justice for.
To Umm Sulaim, the mother of Anas Ibn Malik,
Who raised Anas without panic,
Raising him in the company of the most blessed,
May Allah's peace and blessings be upon him.
To Taymiyyah, the mother of Taqiyudeen,
Who yearned to raise the next leader, next scholar,
Of the Muslimeen.
Pleasing Allah was a her ultimate goal,
Leaving a legacy, which would benefit her soul.
The Mother I long to be, is one of a mothering nature,
The one who longs to raise the next leaders,
The next bearers of the Qur'an,
So that together in Paradise, we can walk in,
Hand in Hand.
To all those, who call me backwards,
Take my words and read them well,
Raising a child is but a privilege,
A blessing, of which many are not aware.
So cherish your gift, with the utmost love and care.
Guiding its steps,
Paving it a road,
To a happy, eternal, end.