Many say it’s foolish,
to cling to God
when the sky burns red,
when the ground splits open,
and swallows homes,
with adults and infants.

But these people…
still, they stand,
barefoot on rubble,
dripping with blood,
hands raised high to a heaven
that keeps crying bombs.

“Hasbuna’ Allahu wa ni’mal wakeel,”
they whisper,
as the world falls to pieces
around them—
their children buried beneath dust,
their elders fading like seasons.

Faith, some say,
is nothing but a waiting game,
a quiet holding of what you can’t see
while bombs tear holes in the air.

But their faith—
it’s a river that never runs dry,
even when the blood flows thicker than water,
even when the fire rains down like judgment.

They don’t bend.
Not to sorrow,
not to death.
They carry their prayers like shields,
their God like armor.
And even as the world
forgets their faces,
forgets their names,
they rise,
again and again,
with mouths full of
the same unshaken song,
the same unbreakable truth:

“Hasbuna’ Allahu wa ni’mal wakeel,”
God is enough,
God is the best protector.

 

 

* Hasbuna’ Allahu wa ni’mal wakeel – Sufficient for us is Allah, and [He is] the best Disposer of affairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Faheem Ahamad from Pexels