...

like the water gushes over a stone,
and moulds it over time by its flow
and the sun shines down on the little rock
and makes the coarse thing glow
my heart has been cold, hard and dry too
and envies that stone that has changed too
a dead heart inside me is silent forever
but the ruh is sighing and pushing it to and fro.
in search of its life, in search of its salvation
and then finds a little corner somewhere in the fitrah,
a speck of light penetrates through,
the rock inside my chest is pushed once again to do.
what it's supposed to,

Allah, Allah, Allah