In the hum of sleepless streets,
I hear the pulse beneath our feet.
We build a world of light and chrome,
but every spark still feels alone.
You touch a glitch beneath my skin,
the signal fades then starts again.
Between the codes the dark inspires,
the color beneath the wires.
Every flicker hides a sound,
every silence pulls us down.
What
have I done that people don't like me?
You succeeded.
What have I done?
You are changing lives.
What have I done?
You are making a mark in destinies.
Any position God puts you in will come with his own troubles.
You wait till God elevates you to a position
somewhere and someone will come to meet you
and say,
sorry,
this man who is your friend,
he's owing me 10 years money from business.
Can you force him for me?
And you say, no, no, no, I'm not in that.
And then you're in
trouble.
Persecution.
Stop crying.
Nobody values me.
While you keep chasing people who
don't care,
fake love,
fake friends,
fake attention,
they will drain you and leave you empty.
Your worth is not in people's hands.
Your worth is with Allah.
Say ameen in the comments and follow this,
my official account.
Still breathing through the pain,
through ashes and empires,
through thunder and rain,
where memory retires and time itself expires.
Still shining, still defying the color
beneath wires.
The color beneath wires.