![alijla2021's tweet photo. A Gazan writer, Shuja Alsafadi write a profound elegy for his son. I translated it. Damn if you do not cry.
“I asked you all, who can show me how to save a rose from wilting? But the water of life dried up, and the rose died. It was plucked early—these are written fates. But faith alone is not enough to lift the rock of loss from the heart. It takes extraordinary strength, supported by faith—not to forget but to move forward.
My son, I used to toil to bring you comfort, gathering penny by penny as I promised. I told you to study hard to achieve an outstanding grade, and I would pay any fee to let you leave the gateway to this hell[Gaza]. I used to refuse paying fees[to leave Rafah crossing], but for your sake, I made an exception. My friend promised me that Amjad, who worked so hard, would get a scholarship. He was studying day and night with all he had, while I did my best to provide as much as possible. My friend Nasser Rabah told me days ago, “Amjad is excellent; there’s nothing to worry about.” Nasser had volunteered to give Amjad lessons in biology. Amjad completed his studies in biology and other subjects, and as we pursued the scholarship, God had another plan—a scholarship with Him, the Almighty. My rose, whom I spent my life watering with love, kindness, and character, was plucked from her garden. But, by God, I am content knowing that Amjad is a rose in heaven—not because he is my son, but because a young man his age who never uttered a bad word, lived in peace and contentment, never upset his mother or me. Even our disagreements during my rare moments of temper would quickly turn into laughter and joking.
He would rise at night to pray in a soft voice, and we would pray the dawn prayer together. When he led us, I would joke, “Don’t prolong the recitation; I’m an old man, I get tired standing, son.” He would reply, “You’re the youth among the elders.” In any discussion, he would always say, “Death will come to you even if you are in fortified towers.” He had knowledge of religion and memorized much of the Qur’an. He didn’t attend memorization classes, nor did he need anyone to guide him to piety. He lived as a faithful, pious young man and had the innocence of a child. No one ever complained about him; he was a balm to the heart, the heart that now needs more than abundant faith to endure.
More than three decades ago, or a bit more, I received a rose as a gift—not metaphorically but a real damask rose. It dried over time, so I preserved it in a special envelope, and it stayed with me to this day. But my rose, Amjad, was a gift that stayed with me for just under two decades. The rose has died, and I have no envelope but the walls of my heart for you, my son, as long as I live.
Forgive me, my rose, if I fell short. My helplessness, and that of fathers like me, is neither selfish nor personal. Our helplessness, my son, is more than hearts can bear. And if my prayers aren’t enough, if I’m not as righteous as I wish to be, my heart is certain that there is no barrier between you and God. I fear I may exaggerate if I say that you will not be asked about a single sin. I know you, but I do not claim any piety for you before God. You are an intercessor for us, my son, so do not forget about us, your mother and me. Visit us in our dreams, and smile that familiar smile that shines with light, just as your face glowed with light when your body was laid to rest in its temporary abode. By God, my son, my heart is certain that your grave is shining around it tonight.
Farewell, my soul’s rose that was plucked too soon. Farewell.](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GcUqZ_-WsAApw4Z.jpg)
Olivia
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Almas
@Ah_Almas12
Wallahu al-musta’an☝🏻
Student activist.
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Nothing is wasted with Him.And to every sister who suffered silently yet stayed steadfast Nothing is wasted in the sight of Allah. He is witness to it all,Allah saw you all along. Alhamdulillah
The years lost, the dropped studies, the struggle for admissions, the allegations, the humiliation, the mental pressure, and the emotional exhaustion none of it went unseen. Every pain is recorded by Allah, and every hardship will be compensated by Him, for you and for us all.
But Allah knows every single one of them. Nothing is wasted in the sight of Allah. He is witness to it all, and your reward is with Him alone.
And to all my sisters who suffered silently yet refused to give up on their faith and dignity Allah saw every sacrifice.
Every person who stood behind us, spoke for us, prayed for us, defended our rights, and gave us the strength to uphold our hijab Jazakumullahu Khairan. The world may never fully recognise your support, your sleepless nights, your worries, your tears, and your silent struggles.
Alhamdulillah daiman wa abadan!
All praise is due to Allah, always and forever.
@Aliyassadi Ameen yarabbal alameen
A Gazan writer, Shuja Alsafadi write a profound elegy for his son. I translated it. Damn if you do not cry.
“I asked you all, who can show me how to save a rose from wilting? But the water of life dried up, and the rose died. It was plucked early—these are written fates. But faith alone is not enough to lift the rock of loss from the heart. It takes extraordinary strength, supported by faith—not to forget but to move forward.
My son, I used to toil to bring you comfort, gathering penny by penny as I promised. I told you to study hard to achieve an outstanding grade, and I would pay any fee to let you leave the gateway to this hell[Gaza]. I used to refuse paying fees[to leave Rafah crossing], but for your sake, I made an exception. My friend promised me that Amjad, who worked so hard, would get a scholarship. He was studying day and night with all he had, while I did my best to provide as much as possible. My friend Nasser Rabah told me days ago, “Amjad is excellent; there’s nothing to worry about.” Nasser had volunteered to give Amjad lessons in biology. Amjad completed his studies in biology and other subjects, and as we pursued the scholarship, God had another plan—a scholarship with Him, the Almighty. My rose, whom I spent my life watering with love, kindness, and character, was plucked from her garden. But, by God, I am content knowing that Amjad is a rose in heaven—not because he is my son, but because a young man his age who never uttered a bad word, lived in peace and contentment, never upset his mother or me. Even our disagreements during my rare moments of temper would quickly turn into laughter and joking.
He would rise at night to pray in a soft voice, and we would pray the dawn prayer together. When he led us, I would joke, “Don’t prolong the recitation; I’m an old man, I get tired standing, son.” He would reply, “You’re the youth among the elders.” In any discussion, he would always say, “Death will come to you even if you are in fortified towers.” He had knowledge of religion and memorized much of the Qur’an. He didn’t attend memorization classes, nor did he need anyone to guide him to piety. He lived as a faithful, pious young man and had the innocence of a child. No one ever complained about him; he was a balm to the heart, the heart that now needs more than abundant faith to endure.
More than three decades ago, or a bit more, I received a rose as a gift—not metaphorically but a real damask rose. It dried over time, so I preserved it in a special envelope, and it stayed with me to this day. But my rose, Amjad, was a gift that stayed with me for just under two decades. The rose has died, and I have no envelope but the walls of my heart for you, my son, as long as I live.
Forgive me, my rose, if I fell short. My helplessness, and that of fathers like me, is neither selfish nor personal. Our helplessness, my son, is more than hearts can bear. And if my prayers aren’t enough, if I’m not as righteous as I wish to be, my heart is certain that there is no barrier between you and God. I fear I may exaggerate if I say that you will not be asked about a single sin. I know you, but I do not claim any piety for you before God. You are an intercessor for us, my son, so do not forget about us, your mother and me. Visit us in our dreams, and smile that familiar smile that shines with light, just as your face glowed with light when your body was laid to rest in its temporary abode. By God, my son, my heart is certain that your grave is shining around it tonight.
Farewell, my soul’s rose that was plucked too soon. Farewell.
![alijla2021's tweet photo. A Gazan writer, Shuja Alsafadi write a profound elegy for his son. I translated it. Damn if you do not cry.
“I asked you all, who can show me how to save a rose from wilting? But the water of life dried up, and the rose died. It was plucked early—these are written fates. But faith alone is not enough to lift the rock of loss from the heart. It takes extraordinary strength, supported by faith—not to forget but to move forward.
My son, I used to toil to bring you comfort, gathering penny by penny as I promised. I told you to study hard to achieve an outstanding grade, and I would pay any fee to let you leave the gateway to this hell[Gaza]. I used to refuse paying fees[to leave Rafah crossing], but for your sake, I made an exception. My friend promised me that Amjad, who worked so hard, would get a scholarship. He was studying day and night with all he had, while I did my best to provide as much as possible. My friend Nasser Rabah told me days ago, “Amjad is excellent; there’s nothing to worry about.” Nasser had volunteered to give Amjad lessons in biology. Amjad completed his studies in biology and other subjects, and as we pursued the scholarship, God had another plan—a scholarship with Him, the Almighty. My rose, whom I spent my life watering with love, kindness, and character, was plucked from her garden. But, by God, I am content knowing that Amjad is a rose in heaven—not because he is my son, but because a young man his age who never uttered a bad word, lived in peace and contentment, never upset his mother or me. Even our disagreements during my rare moments of temper would quickly turn into laughter and joking.
He would rise at night to pray in a soft voice, and we would pray the dawn prayer together. When he led us, I would joke, “Don’t prolong the recitation; I’m an old man, I get tired standing, son.” He would reply, “You’re the youth among the elders.” In any discussion, he would always say, “Death will come to you even if you are in fortified towers.” He had knowledge of religion and memorized much of the Qur’an. He didn’t attend memorization classes, nor did he need anyone to guide him to piety. He lived as a faithful, pious young man and had the innocence of a child. No one ever complained about him; he was a balm to the heart, the heart that now needs more than abundant faith to endure.
More than three decades ago, or a bit more, I received a rose as a gift—not metaphorically but a real damask rose. It dried over time, so I preserved it in a special envelope, and it stayed with me to this day. But my rose, Amjad, was a gift that stayed with me for just under two decades. The rose has died, and I have no envelope but the walls of my heart for you, my son, as long as I live.
Forgive me, my rose, if I fell short. My helplessness, and that of fathers like me, is neither selfish nor personal. Our helplessness, my son, is more than hearts can bear. And if my prayers aren’t enough, if I’m not as righteous as I wish to be, my heart is certain that there is no barrier between you and God. I fear I may exaggerate if I say that you will not be asked about a single sin. I know you, but I do not claim any piety for you before God. You are an intercessor for us, my son, so do not forget about us, your mother and me. Visit us in our dreams, and smile that familiar smile that shines with light, just as your face glowed with light when your body was laid to rest in its temporary abode. By God, my son, my heart is certain that your grave is shining around it tonight.
Farewell, my soul’s rose that was plucked too soon. Farewell.](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GcUqZ__WsAASd0B.jpg)
30 days, 10,000+ lives shattered. Yet, Palestinians are still having to prove their worth as humans while also fighting against the brutality of Israel. International community, act now and demand #CeasefireNow #30DaysTooMany #STOPISRAELBARBARISM
All the prayers and efforts and waiting for the best Insha allah….
#InShaAllah #livelaw #India #HijabisOurRight #AllahuAkbar #hopeforbest #bestoutcome
Join us girls…
#GirlsConference
Guests: Student Activists
@Aliyassadi @Ah_Almas12 @hazra_shifa @muskaan_z5 @Resham_Farooq
July 16, 2022 | 11 AM Townhall, Mangalore
Eid ul adha mubarak 💫💕
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