Whispers Of The Nafs-E-Lawwaamah Poem by Mohammad Younus

The soul, a wanderer between realms, carries within it the whispers of *nafs-e-lawwaamah*—the stirrings of conscience, the gentle tug of self-reproach. It is a voice that calls from the depths, urging growth, reflection, and transformation. Yet, the arrogant heart, cloaked in pride, turns away from this sacred murmur. It builds walls of indifference, shutting out the divine inspiration that seeks to guide it. Like clouds drifting over a barren desert, the whispers of *nafs-e-lawwaamah* pass by unnoticed, unable to release their nourishing rain. But when these same clouds meet the forest, the trees reach out with their verdant arms, drawing the rain downward in a symphony of life. So too does the soul, when it opens itself to the call, become a vessel for inspiration, a conduit for grace.

The soul, though tethered to the earth, is not severed from the heavens. It dwells in many spheres, a traveler across dimensions, though its awareness often lingers on the material plane. Here, it feels the weight of earthly struggles, the confines of time and space, the ache of separation from its celestial home. Yet, even in this forgetfulness, the soul remains connected to the higher realms, like a star whose light reaches across galaxies, unseen but ever-present. It is only when the soul awakens to its true nature, when it remembers its origin and its destiny, that it can transcend the limitations of the earthly realm and taste the bliss of the divine.

Oh, seeker of truth, do not silence the voice within. Let the whispers of *nafs-e-lawwaamah* stir your heart, like the wind that moves the leaves of the forest. Open yourself to the rain of inspiration, and let it nourish the seeds of your potential. For the soul is a bridge between heaven and earth, a thread woven into the fabric of the cosmos. To live fully is to live in awareness of this connection, to dance between the realms, and to find the sacred in the ordinary. In this dance, the soul finds its freedom, its purpose, and its joy.

—MyKoul