AlAnoud Writes

في دروبِ القلبِ أسعى خاشعًا

أطرقُ الأبوابَ بحثًا عن الرِضا

ليس مالًا، ليس مجدًا زائلًا

بل سكونُ الروحِ إن ضاقَ الفضا

يا إلهي، علّمني كيفَ القَبولْ

كيف أرضى حينَ تَشتدُّ السُبُلْ

كيف أُبصر في البلاءِ نعمةً

وأرى اللطفَ الخفيَّ في الثِّقَلْ

الرِّضا سرٌّ عميقٌ ساكنٌ

في يقينٍ لا يُزعزعهُ الأجلْ

هو تسليمُ الفؤادِ لِحُكمِكَ

حين لا نفهمُ، لكن نعتدلْ

فاجعلِ الرِّضا رفيقي دائمًا

واجعلِ الطمأنينةَ لي وطنْ

إن رضيتُ، صار كلُّ الكونِ لي

واكتفى قلبي…

وكانَ بما كَتَبْتَ مُطمئنْ

I am the olive tree.. ancient, awake,

A story no storm has managed to break.

Before there were borders, before there was name,

I stood in the silence, unshaken, the same.

My roots run deep where the old voices sleep,

Through centuries buried, through secrets I keep.

They twist through the earth, through memory and stone,

They whisper: you’ve always been here, you’ve always been home.

It takes a lot. Yes, a lot, a lot

To move what time itself forgot.

The winds may rage, the skies may scream,

But I am older than the storm’s own dream.

They push, they pull, they test, they try,

They darken the earth, they trouble the sky

But I do not shatter, I do not bend,

I am not a moment that comes to an end.

Pressure has knocked like a thief at my door,

Fear has circled, demanding more

“Will you fall? Will you fade? Will you loosen your claim?”

But I answered in silence: I remain the same.

For I am not weak, I am not unsure,

I am the constant, steady, secure.

I sway with the wind, but I do not depart,

For the land beats within me, a permanent heart.

I stand tall; not loud, but clear,

Rooted in truth that outlives fear.

I stand here; not lost, not thrown,

Every grain of this soil knows my tone.

This land is not something I borrow or see

This land breathes within me, as I breathe it. I am it, it’s me.

I am the land, the air, the sky,

The echo that does not pass or die.

White and maroon flow quiet and true,

 A الأدعم لوني— my soul’s own hue.

Not worn as color, not draped as pride,

But lived in my roots, where my truths reside.

A rhythm that pulses, a flame that won’t flee,

A banner that rises from deep within me.

Generations speak through the lines of my frame,

Each leaf holds a story, each branch holds a name.

I carry their voices, their strength, their decree

They are not behind me… they are within me.

So let the world tremble, let doubt take its stand,

Let questions fall heavy like dust on the land

I will not wander, I will not stray,

For here I was rooted, and here I will stay.

I do not break.

I do not sway.

I do not leave.

I stay.

I am.

I wake into a room that already exists.

Light on the wall, pale and slow, like something that insists.

I lie still for a moment, aware of breath and skin.

No story yet. No victory. No loss. Just the quiet I’m in.

At work the world arranges itself in lines.

Emails, voices, deadlines, measured designs.

I speak in a tone that sounds like control.

I move through decisions that resemble a role.

From the outside everything holds its frame.

Inside, something watches without a name.

Am I okay?..  I ask without fear.

The question does not echo; it simply appears.

Not heavy. Not bright. Not sharply defined.

Just a steady horizon at the edge of the mind.

At home the air loosens its grip.

Shoes on the floor. Thoughts that slip.

The silence is wider. The light is low.

Time moves without needing to show.

I sit in the middle of nothing extreme.

Not a collapse. Not a dream.

This is the neutral ground I stand on tonight.

Neither shadow nor blazing light.

What is real .. the motion, the part?

Or the quiet observer behind the heart?

Zoom out.

The day becomes small and the city grows wide.

My doubts shrink down to a passing tide.

Zoom out further,  beyond street and sky.

The earth keeps turning without asking why.

And here I remain, simple and still.

Not chasing a peak. Not climbing a hill.

Just here in the center of what I can be.

Uncertain, awake, and strangely free…

Your wishes were written long before your sight,

softly inscribed in the margins of light.

Your dreams were never fragile or far,

they lived where your deepest beginnings are.

What’s meant for you does not drift or stray,

it moves with the patience of night into day.

Not lost, not delayed, not denied by fate,

only awaiting its destined state.

Time is no enemy standing above,

but a careful sculptor of strength and of love.

Shaping your spirit, steady and wise,

preparing your hands for your own sunrise.

Nothing you seek has wandered away,

nothing you hope for has faded to grey.

The journey you walk, the road you pursue,

is simply the world aligning with you.

And when it arrives, as all things do,

you’ll feel what was always silently true.

No sudden miracle, no unknown call

just the gentle knowing: it was yours all along.

Pressure is a privilege, feel it press,

It shapes your spine, it carves your yes.

It means you’re standing where it’s real,

Where dreams demand you show your steel.

Mistakes are not the mark of shame,

They’re sparks that teach you how to aim.

Don’t call them loss, don’t bow in fear

They’re feedback whispering, adjust right here.

Pay attention. Stay awake.

Be curious. Be quick to break

Old skins, old doubt, old borrowed sight

Be nimble in the changing light.

Don’t take the weight of words too deep,

Some stones are not yours to keep.

Guard your fire. Protect your view.

Never lose the dream that chose you.

Struggle isn’t something you end,

It walks beside you, foe and friend.

And freedom? No, she’s never done.

She’s not inherited, she’s won.

Earned by breath. By choice. By stand.

By steady hearts and open hands.

Each generation pays the due

To win again what once was true.

So stand. Learn. Listen. Press ahead.

Let pressure crown you, not break your head.

G- 2023

I am tired in a way that rest won’t mend,

A quiet weight with no clear end.

Not tired of work, nor tired of try,

But tired of holding what passes by.

I stand prepared, my voice held low,

Three steps ahead of what they know.

I carry more than I am named,

Give without being fully claimed.

I watch things circle, slow and near,

Titles unspoken, promises unclear.

They hover close, yet never land,

As if commitment needs a hand.

There’s anger here I do not show,

Too sharp to let, too calm to grow.

Beneath it rests a softer plea:

To be met where I already be.

I ask no praise, no grand display,

No spotlight cast upon my way.

Just simple truth, aligned and fair .. 

Let what I hold match what I bear.

I’ve been ready, long before

Readiness knocked upon the door.

And waiting now feels less like grace,

More like absence taking space.

If something binds me, let it stay,

Spoken clearly, not delayed.

If something comes, let it be known,

With a name, a shape, a tone.

Or else I’ll loosen what I hold,

Not from anger, not from cold,

But clarity that softly sees

When staying asks too much of me.

For I am done.. calm, not afraid!

Standing ready, over-stayed.

The door I wait for, I now know,

Was mine to open long ago.

I seek refuge بِرَبِّ ٱلۡفَلَقِ , the Splitter of dawn,

The ٱلنُّور tearing night where fear had drawn.

With ٱلۡمُبۡدِئ, bringing all from start,

And ٱلۡخَٰلِق knowing every hidden part .

From harm within what ٱلۡبَارِئ shaped,

From paths where even good feels scraped.

From night when ٱلۡقَابِض lets darkness close,

Till ٱلۡبَاسِط spreads what morning knows.

From whispered knots and silent breath,

Where harm is worked without a threat

But ٱللَّطِيف sees what hands conceal,

And ٱلۡحَكِيم undoes what words make real.

From envy when the heart turns tight,

Against ٱلۡوَهَّاب and gifted light.

where ٱلۡعَدۡل balance stays,

Let ٱلۡحَفِيظ guards me through all days.

I return, when all seems torn,

To ٱلسَّلَام,

to رَب الفَلَق.

قُلۡ أَعُوذُ بِرَبِّ ٱلۡفَلَقِ (1) مِن شَرِّ مَا خَلَقَ (2)وَمِن شَرِّ غَاسِقٍ إِذَا وَقَبَ (3) وَمِن شَرِّ ٱلنَّفَّٰثَٰتِ فِي ٱلۡعُقَدِ (4) وَمِن شَرِّ حَاسِدٍ إِذَا حَسَدَ (5)

I carry storms I never show,
a quiet ache that moves in slow.
Not sharp enough to make me bend,
just there.. an ache without an end.

My thoughts collide, they rush, they race,
fear and hope share the same space.
Nothing settles, nothing stays,
yet nothing breaks beneath the haze.

Excitement hums beneath my skin,
not joy, not peace.. just pulling in.
A signal soft, a subtle sign
that something here is still mine.

Worry walks a step behind,
asking questions I can’t define.
It doesn’t shout, it doesn’t plead,
it stays because it knows I care indeed.

And under all this restless sound,
a deeper stillness can be found.
Not calm from knowing how things end,
but calm that says: I’ll stand. I’ll bend.

I am sad and tangled, torn yet whole,
chaos dancing with control.
Afraid, alive, unsure, yet free..
many truths living in me.

He is with you where you stand,

in every grain of drifting sand,

in every breath your lungs command,

in every trembling, open hand.

When night falls heavy on your sight

and doubts grow louder in the night,

He walks with you beyond your fright,

a hidden, steady, faithful light.

When hearts grow tired, when hopes feel thin,

when all the wars are fought within,

He knows the scars beneath your skin,

the quiet prayers you never spin.

You don’t need words, you don’t need proof,

His mercy is your silent roof.

Above your fears, beyond your truth,

He keeps you safe, He holds you close.

In every tear you try to hide,

in every lonely step you stride,

He is the strength you keep inside,

the unseen hand right by your side.

So wherever you may go or be,

in land or loss, in joy or plea,

remember this with certainty:

He is with you … endlessly.

“وَهُوَ مَعَكُمْ أَيْنَمَا كُنتُمْ”

With hardship comes ease, with hardship comes ease,

A promise from God that softens the squeeze.

Not after the fall, not once it has passed,

But inside the moment that feels too vast.

With hardship comes ease, when nights stretch long,

When prayers feel weak and the heart feels wrong.

When doors stay closed and the path feels tight,

And hope flickers low in the quiet night.

With hardship comes ease, though tears may fall,

Not a single one wasted.. He counts them all.

What feels like an ending, a loss, a defeat,

Is the soil where tomorrow prepares its feet.

With hardship comes ease, when strength feels gone,

When you wake each day and still carry on.

You think you are buried, forgotten, unseen,

But roots grow deepest where light has not been.

With hardship comes ease, say it slow, say it true,

When the world feels heavy and so do you.

Thee has spoken, His word is enough,

No hardship outlasts the mercy of Al-Lutf.

With hardship comes ease, with hardship comes ease,

Hold tight to the promise, let your heart breathe.

﴿ فَإِنَّ مَعَ الْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا ۝ إِنَّ مَعَ الْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا ﴾

I made a deal with the universe once,

a very polite, well-worded plea:

“Just give me one small shiny thing,

and I’ll stop asking for three.”

A job, a title, a stamped-in-ink pass,

a proof that says you belong

Surely then all the stuck-in-between

would feel slightly less wrong.

I said, “If this arrives, I’ll relax.

I’ll stop this dramatic internal fight.”

The universe blinked, sipped its tea,

and replied, “Not tonight.”

So I paced and I bargained and over-thought,

tripped over my own desire,

Called it greed, called it weakness,

called waiting a spiritual fire.

But alignment, it turns out, isn’t sparkle or proof,

or a gold-embossed reason to smile.

It’s not putting your heart in a holding bay

with a check back later file.

It’s wanting the thing without shrinking your soul,

or tying your peace to a prize.

It’s standing upright in the middle of not yet

with both feet and open eyes.

So today I retire the bargain.

The universe can keep its delays.

I’ll hum while I wait, take up space,

and breathe like I’m already okay.

If the door swings open .. lovely.

If not, I’ll still be here.

Aligned, slightly amused,

and refusing to disappear

The night sits low,

unbothered, unhurried 

like someone who already knows

how the story ends.

A thin line of light

rests on your table,

pretending not to care

where you’re headed next.

You breathe, steady,

as if the world finally moved

at your pace

for once.

No searching,

no noise 

just the quiet understanding

that some seasons change

only when you decide they should.

And in that stillness,

everything soft you thought you’d lost

returns,

without asking for permission