I heard Katy Perry's song 'Firework' playing and it was like someone knocking on my heart. I pressed my ear to the door and asked "Who is it?" A gentle voice replied, "It is I, Muhammad".
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*Sigh*
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"What do you want of me? Go find someone worthy of your attention." I said to the voice behind the door.
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*Sigh*
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"How can I, when my Lord entrusted you to me?"
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*Sigh*
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I collapsed beside the entrance of my heart crying, "Oh Prophet, forgive me..."
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We all love our prophets. We may not understand them entirely and at times we get confused by the teaching of preachers. And of course we often delude ourselves. Thankfully, although we cannot describe 'good' but we know it when we feel it, and the prophets feel very, very good indeed. Yet, no matter how high we place the prophets in the firmament of our soul, we know it is never high enough, for the divine station of prophets is in God's hands. And He Praises His best servants wonderfully.
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I am a blubbering fool and often cry thinking of him. But the tears are not tears of sadness, only that when we feel so blessed, that no words seem adequate to describe him. In that moment, tears become a wonderous lake of reflection, and we sit contented by the lakeside, looking upon the reflection of our prophets, contemplating, "How wonderful art thee..."
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Have a good week, sunshine!
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Pax Taufiqa.
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