Qurʾān Journey

Building Your Qurʾān Toolkit

13 December 2024
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Qurʾān Journey

Starting this Journey

23 November 2024
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Poems

Gray

11 October 2024
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Poems

Strength

11 October 2024
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Reaching Heaven

Letters to my Imām

4 February 2022
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POETRY

Heartfelt Words

Words sometimes carry your soul and fly you to a place of comfort.

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ABOUT ME

Hello there,
My name is Rumina!

I am the author of this blog. Expressing myself through journaling and writing poetry has been one of the most rewarding aspects of my life.

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REACHING HEAVEN

Letters to my Imam

When the Imām (ʿaj) reappears I hope he will look at me and call me by my name

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Poems
Grief
14 September 2018
Reflections
My Purpose...
11 March 2013
Reflections
True Colours
3 October 2014
Reflections
Mum's a Miracle!
24 January 2014
Qurʾān Journey
Starting this Journey
23 November 2024
Reflections

Our Sacrifice

During the days of Muharram, when I go the local center at night, I wish, time and time again, that I was in Kerbala. When the nawhas are being recited, I close my eyes, and imagine what it would’ve been like on the day of Ashura. In the land, that, today, is filled with visitors from all over the world, to pay tribute to the Imam who sacrificed everything he had to give us the gift of Islam that we have today.

I imagine a brave warrior holding a flag, and riding to fetch water for his niece, knowing he may not make it back.

I imagine a glowing aura standing in the middle of a desert, stating his last will and going forth to fight bravely, knowing that not too long after, his blood will be mingled with the sands of the holy land.

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4 November 2009
Reflections

A Foreigner…

“Have you ever wondered, what treasures it is, that you hold in your hand, young child?” I felt an urge to ask the child who played so joyfully on the swings and slides in the park. How must it be, years of growing in the comfort of your own home, having your family right beside you.

“Let me answer that for you. I wake not knowing if I shall live to see tomorrow, or even the sun setting today…” says the voice of a weakened heart. My own voice.

Iraq is my home, it has always been my home. I remember those days, when I would wake in the early hours of the day, stand besides my father and offer my prayers, thanking God for such good friends and a loving family. I could see the sun rising from my window as I quickly dressed. My heart was racing, because it was time for school and Hassan was waiting for me by Hashim’s market. Oh how beautiful the sun looked!

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26 March 2009
Poems

Ecstatic Ascension

Me’raj-ul-Mo’min

The time has come for me to pray,
I set aside my work and play
To the prayer room I make my way
To perform that which will bring success in my day

Ablution I do, to purify within
Wash my face, asking God to hid my sin
Wipe my arms pleading to Him sincere
Receiving my book of deeds in the left, I fear

The last I do before I stand to pray
Is wipe my feet, God don’t let me sway
Let the places I enter be pure and clean
Not places that are rejected by my Deen

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6 March 2009
Poems

Thinking of You (9 Years Nanabapa)

I was walking by the riverside, thinking of you
It has been nine years since you have passed on,
As I recalled the memories we once shared,
I thought, people like you, there are such few.

You lived life and thanked god for every day
When times were good and times were bad
Had man known the troubles you faced,
They would not have said what you would say

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12 October 2008
Poems

How Time Flies (3 Years – Dadabapa)

How time flies, when you sit and think
of someone who has left this world.

How the days pass, but the memories don’t fade,
they just replay in your mind.

Let me rewind the tape,
back to the days, when you were still alive…

Grandfather, do you remember the times….
When you would sit back, and smile
as you watched your grandchildren play.

When, occasionally you would walk on the grass
enjoying the wonderful day.

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4 April 2008
Reflections

“…for you Hussain, He Created a Nation!”

As the last days of 1430 pass us by, we, along with thousands of other Muslims worldwide, prepare for the coming of the New Islamic Year. But this preparation is not one of joy and celebration, rather one of grief and sorrow. It is a reminder for us, that as the new moon is sighted and the 1st of Muharram sets in, we are no longer alone in the Imambargah and in the remembrance of the Tragedy of Aba Abdillah, Hussain Ibne Ali (a.s.). Rather, we are going to be in the company of that sad mother of Imam Hussain (a.s.), whose name is Fatema Zahra (a.s.).

It was this Fatema Zahra (a.s.) who was concerned about the commemoration of the tragedy of Kerbala, ever since Imam Hussain (a.s.) was born. When she asked her father, when she was told about the Martyrdom of her son, as to whether there will be anyone to mourn him, to cry over him, to shed tears over her son’s death, the Prophet wept and said to her, “Fatema, I shall not be alive, Ali will not be there, Fatema, even you will not be there, Hassan will not be there.”

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26 December 2007

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