Words of Nasra

Words of Nasra

Nasra was a girl of words. At nineteen, she had already filled countless journals with poems, reflections, and prayers. Her words flowed like a river, weaving beauty and meaning into everything she touched. Born and raised in a quiet town, she found solace in the rhythm of language and the depth of her faith. Islam was not just a religion to her; it was her soul’s melody, and poetry was how she expressed its essence.

From an early age, Nasra had been enchanted by the Qur'an’s verses. She spent hours reciting and reflecting upon its meanings, marveling at the eloquence of its words. Her admiration for the Qur'an inspired her poetry, and she often wrote verses that mirrored its themes of patience, gratitude, and divine love. Her family supported her passion, though some in her community found it unusual for a young woman to be so engrossed in poetry.

One day, Nasra received an invitation to participate in a national poetry competition. The theme was "Faith and Resilience," a subject she carried in her heart. It was an opportunity she had long dreamed of, but a shadow of doubt crept over her. What if her words were not good enough? What if people dismissed her because she was a Muslim girl who wore a hijab?

Her mother, sensing her hesitation, sat beside her one evening and said, "Nasra, Allah has given you a gift. Do not let fear silence your voice. Speak, and He will guide your words."

Encouraged by her mother’s wisdom, Nasra decided to enter the competition. She poured her heart into her poem, crafting each line with care. When the day of the event arrived, she stood before a crowd of hundreds, her heart pounding. But as she began to recite, her voice grew steady. Her poem spoke of trials and triumph, of unwavering faith in the face of adversity. She spoke of the women of the past—Khadijah, Aisha, Fatima—who stood strong with courage and wisdom. She spoke of the whispers of du’a in the quiet of the night, of the hope that carried her forward.

When she finished, silence filled the hall before it erupted into applause. Tears glistened in the eyes of some audience members. Nasra had not just recited a poem; she had shared her soul.

To her astonishment, she won first place. The recognition was overwhelming, but what touched her most were the people who came up to her afterward. A young girl, no older than fourteen, told her, "I never thought I could write poetry. But hearing you, I want to try." An older man said, "Your words reminded me of my mother’s wisdom. Thank you."

From that day on, Nasra realized her poetry was not just hers—it was a gift to be shared. She started a blog, writing about faith, identity, and the beauty of Islam. She was invited to schools and gatherings to speak about poetry and faith. Her words began to reach beyond her small town, touching hearts across the world.

Yet, Nasra remained humble. She continued to wake up before dawn, whispering her prayers in sujood. She continued to fill her journals, not for fame but for the love of expression. She knew her journey was only beginning, and as long as Allah willed it, she would continue to write.

For Nasra, poetry was not just about words; it was about light. And as long as she had breath in her lungs, she would use her voice to illuminate the world.