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Advice from al-Sayyid Ali al-Sistani for the Believing Youth

Advice from al-Sayyid Ali al-Sistani for the Believing Youth

Here is an excerpt from this advice to the youth…which is chock-ful of wisdom and advice for our teens!

“Third: Trying to become a professional and acquire a specialization, and striving and exerting oneself to this end, for indeed there is a lot of blessing in this. One should then spend part of his time working to earn that which he may spend on himself and his family, and then use it to benefit the society and utilize it in charitable works as well as to gain further experience, which will refine his mind and increase his expertise. This will [also] make his wealth felicitous, for indeed whenever wealth is earned through greater toil and hard work, its goodness and bounty increases. Allah also loves the person who is hardworking and who exerts himself to earn and work, andHe dislikes the idle, unoccupied person who is a burden on others, or the one who wastes his time in diversion and play. So let not your youth be spent without gaining proficiency in a profession or specialization, for Allah, the Glorified, has placed physical and psychological vigour in youth, so that one may develop the asset he needs in his life during this phase. It must therefore not be wasted by distraction and neglect.”

Read more here: Ayatullhttp://www.islamicinsights.com/religion/advice-from-al-sayyid-ali-al-sistani-for-the-believing-youth.html

Who do you cry for?

Very inspiring for the older ones – who are our role models? And who SHOULD be our role models?

I loved the example of the Prophet caring so much for us back – we are also honoured that we have Imam Mahdi (aj) too, whom we are told cries and prays and worries for us too…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVtoHhjOGnE

Teenager Hijaabi wins Poetry Slam

Teenager Hijaabi wins Poetry Slam

16 year old hijaabi Emi Mahmoud won a Poetry Slam with these awesome words…

P.S. It is well worth going on her facebook page – she is an embodiment of someone using their talents for the right cause!

http://news.yale.edu/2015/10/26/yale-senior-wins-individual-world-poetry-slam-championship

Mama
I was walking down the street when a man stopped me and said,
Hey yo sistah, you from the motherland?
Because my skin is a shade too deep not to have come from foreign soil
Because this garment on my head screams Africa
Because my body is a beacon calling everybody to come flock to the motherland
I said, I’m Sudanese, why?
He says, ‘cause you got a little bit of flavor in you,
I’m just admiring what your mama gave you
Let me tell you something about my mama
She can reduce a man to tattered flesh without so much as blinking
Her words fester beneath your skin and the whole time,
You won’t be able to stop cradling her eyes.
My mama is a woman, flawless and formidable in the same step.
Woman walks into a warzone and has warriors cowering at her feet
My mama carries all of us in her body,
on her face, in her blood and
Blood is no good once you let it loose
So she always holds us close.
When I was 7, she cradled bullets in the billows of her robes.
That same night, she taught me how to get gunpowder out of cotton with a bar of soap.
Years later when the soldiers held her at gunpoint and asked her who she was
She said, I am a daughter of Adam, I am a woman, who the hell are you?
The last time we went home, we watched our village burn,
Soldiers pouring blood from civilian skulls
As if they too could turn water into wine.
They stole the ground beneath our feet.
The woman who raised me
turned and said, don’t be scared
I’m your mother, I’m here, I won’t let them through.
My mama gave me conviction.
Women like her
Inherit tired eyes,
Bruised wrists and titanium plated spines.
The daughters of widows wearing the wings of amputees
Carry countries between their shoulder blades.
I’m not saying dating is a first world problem, but these trifling moterfuckers seem to be.
The kind who’ll quote Rumi, but not know what he sacrificed for war.
Who’ll fawn over Lupita, but turn their racial filters on.
Who’ll take their politics with a latte when I take mine with tear gas.
Every guy I meet wants to be my introduction to the dark side,
Wants me to open up this obsidian skin and let them read every tearful page,
Because what survivor hasn’t had her struggle made spectacle?
Don’t talk about the motherland unless you know that being from Africa
means waking up an afterthought in this country.
Don’t talk about my flavor unless you know that
My flavor is insurrection, it is rebellion, resistance
my flavor is mutiny
It is burden, it is grit and it is compromise
And you don’t know compromise until you’ve rebuilt your home for the third time
Without bricks, without mortar, without any other option
I turned to the man and said,
My mother and I can’t walk the streets alone back home any more.
Back home, there are no streets to walk any more.