The
room still hums with what we said,
a ghost of truth that hangs instead.
The air feels heavy,
cold,
unsure,
like every wound we can't endure.
You looked away,
I looked within,
both too proud to let it end.
Now all that's left between the blur
is the silence after the last word.
Every breath feels like goodbye,
but neither one of us can cry.
If
you've lost your father,
this dua is for you.
Ya Allah, my father is gone,
but not a day passes without missing him.
I miss his voice, his duas,
his silent strength.
Please forgive all his shortcomings.
Fill his grave with light and peace.
Let every moment he spent raising us become
a reason for his elevation in Jannah.
Remove any pain he felt and replace it with your endless mercy.
Grant him a home in paradise where there's no more sorrow,
no more death,
only joy in your presence.
Ameen.
If you felt this in your heart,
say Ameen in the comments.
Like and share this for someone who misses their dad too.
We will love again,
but this time not with our hearts,
but with our minds.
If I could speak,
I'd just rewind,
erase the end,
rewrite the line,
but quiet wins it always will.
It's louder now and louder still.
Louder still, louder still.
No more thunder, no return.
Only silence let it burn.
It's the silence after the last word,
a requiem we never heard.
Every memory fades to dust,
every promise turns to rust,
and though the world still softly turns,
it's the silence after the last word.