The Whisper of the Soul

The Believer’s Conversation with Allah

In stillness deep, with heart laid bare,
I lift my hands in whispered prayer.
A fragile voice, so soft, so light,
Yet bound to Heaven’s endless might.

No gold nor throne can match its worth,
This humble cry—this bridge from earth.
A trembling plea, a tear, a sigh,
The soul’s own breath that touches sky.

The night may stretch in endless black,
The road be rough, the strength grow slack,
Yet in my palms, like light, like rain,
Hope blooms anew through joy and pain.

For He who hears the sparrow’s call,
Who counts the sands, who holds the fall,
Will bend His ear, so kind, so near,
To every dua—sweet, sincere.

So speak, my heart, though weak, though small,
The One who formed you hears it all.
No prayer is lost, no tear unseen,
For Mercy writes what love shall mean.