white knuckled faith — ya Allah, Al Wakeel.

on trust in god

my hands ache; holding on through faith
my tasbeeh breaks; but you mend all that's frayed
frantic hands; trying to rewrite fate
each hasbi Allah clenched; my heart's still learning to translate

tied a rope to desire, and i named it yakeen
white knuckled on the wheel, as i'm begging you to lead
unearthing the seeds, thinking "when will they be seen?"
hands trembling, gripping tight; my terror disguised as need

and still, i clutch the reins
half surrendered, half aware
i rise from sujood; fists closed, shikwa bare
"i rely" is what i whisper, when i'm worn and it’s late
been carrying some weight, of what was never mine to bear

if tawakkul is release, i'll start with these fists
ya Rabb, loosen my grip;
not all at once, but as you please
i cling to this dunya, knowing its grasp will fade
no end for the mu’min, the essence of Your promise shall remain.

وَٱللَّهُ خَيْرُ ٱلْمَـٰكِرِينَ

---

this was written on a night i couldn’t sleep. literally, classic gripping-for-dear-life mode. and i kept calling it tawakkul. but really, i was just clenching harder; tight fists, desperate du’as, pretending it’s surrender.

something had to go, and so i wrote.

---

if this sat with you in any way, i’d love to hear what it stirred. consider this a space for that kind of honesty.

---