Letters That Fell into Sujood (Part 2)

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In case you haven't read Part 1 yet, here it is: Letter that Fell into Sujood

If I could tell the world what lies between my ribs, Ya Rabb, would they call it love or worship? Would they bless it with praise, or stain it with sin, a heart accused for what it only ever carried towards You in pain. For how could they ever learn, that this desire is not one that makes you burn, but only love bowing low. That when I think of him, my soul does not wander; it kneels in Sujood to You.

I wonder sometimes, Ya Rabb, is it sinful to smile when I think of him? To feel warmth bloom like daisies within me, and still raise my hands to You instead of reaching outward? Is this longing disobedience, or a secret You destined for me, so I'd remember You more deeply?

For only You know how I hide him in my sujood, how his name rests perfectly between my forearms and the ground, how the air around me feels fuller, when I surrender my feelings to You.

If love could be modest, this would be its form, quiet, veiled and serene, breathing softly between du'a and sujood.

His name lingers in my chest like a secret prayer, a line of poetry that blushes in silence, unwritten, yet alive beneath every breath.

For when the wind carries his memory, I feel my pulse shiver, my lips soften, gaze lowers, not out of guilt or shame, but out of awe, awe for how deeply You let a heart feel.

And then I wonder: Would the pen understand if I tried to write him? Would it hesitate to spill what the heart holds, fearing that the ink might desecrate, what is meant to only stay holy hidden from the shadows of prey, but known in the heavens above.

For he is beyond description, warmth made visible, peace come alive. That even words fall short, too heavy, too human to hold his existence.

He moves like the meaning itself, a quiet space that gathers light. And I, trembling at the edge of this poetry, can only lower my sight, and let the unwritten speak for me.

And so I pray to You, my Lord, For I see the Light You breathed into his soul, my heart whispering what the tongue cannot hold. His walking, as though, in every step of his lies Your remembrance, And I too, seeing him, remember You.

He is what You hoped for every man to be, not by perfection, but by the gentleness that steadies the hastened ones.

And so I keep this love, hidden within the rhythms of my heartbeat, untainted from the world's eyes.

For I know You see, what the chambers of my heart cannot speak. How every thought of him leads me back to You. because the promise of Yours never fails to come true.

What lies between the ribs is only known to You, for You are Al-Lateef, The Subtle One, who knows the language of hearts, unspoken and Al-Wadud, the Most Loving, who decrees love not as possession, but as a path, a sign, that returns the soul to its Creator.

Until the day You unveil what was written all along, I will keep it where You placed it, between my ribs.

I will wait, Ya Rabb, not with restless hands, but with a soul bowed in certainity.

For in every breath that remembers him, I remember You first.