I enter where the cries of children sound
And therein dwell until they die away,
Where mothers’ soft embraces can’t be found
And fathers’ mighty hands may hold no sway;
And though my anger swells, I have no leave
To act till comes to pass the death of time,
But well I see the the stricken when they grieve
And well I study souls that fashion crime.
My day will come, and when it comes, the damned
Will find their fettered souls within my clasp
When all their hands had wrought, their necks, shall brand,
And naught may ‘scape their lips but wretched gasp.
I weigh, withhold, withdraw to watch and wait
For when the cold inversion seals their fate.
– – – – – – – – – –
Even the lowest angel forms are an intelligent force to reckon with. They are sworn to justice, unwavering, serving only Al-Muntaqim. 

Preserve us, Ya Rahmaan, in Your Love and Mercy.

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