In a Hindu home, my tale began,
Yet Hidayath's gift wasn't granted to all of man.
Lucky, I stand, Allah chose my heart,
To worship Him, a sacred part.

Once a soul tarnished in my former creed,
A darker path where missteps would lead.
Islam's embrace, a transformative dance,
Allah's mercy, a newfound chance.

Regrets replaced by a pure soul's light,
Kindness bloomed, dispelling the night.
Wealth diminished, but joy does swell,
For in my heart, Allah's peace does dwell.

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In three short months, a bond did grow,
As a teacher, gratitude does flow.
Students whisper, "Favorite," they say,
A warmth that brightens my every day.

Their love, a gift, overwhelms my soul,
In their hearts, I've found a cherished role.
I promise, dear students, by your side I'll stay,
A steadfast pillar, come what may.

Through life's journey, thick and thin,
With you, my students, I'll begin.
Humble and grateful, our ties remain,
A promise to cherish, a heartfelt refrain.

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"Believe in the impermanence of life, yet strive to leave lasting memories. Do work that echoes even after you're gone, evoking tears at the thought of your presence. Be the kind of person whose impact lingers in the hearts of those left behind."

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In student days of old, in knowledge's quest,
Teachers' aid ensured success, marks at their best.
Sir Henry's presence, a comforting guide,
In moments of need, always by my side.

Now, a teacher's role, a cycle complete,
Passing on wisdom, making learning sweet.
No regret for lending a helping hand,
In exams' challenge, together we stand.

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In life's journey, lessons unfold,
Each step, a story, a tale untold.
Mistakes echo from the past's embrace,
A lingering shame, a silent space.

Yet, goodness shines in God's divine light,
Hidayath granted, a path so bright.
Through pain's embrace, I've learned to dance,
Enduring storms, giving life a chance.

A symphony of sorrows, I've played my part,
Yet, a counterfeit smile guards my heart.
In the echoes of joy and the shadows of strife,
I navigate life, a dance with the fake smile of life.

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In realms where words weave tales untold,
A daughter's grace, a gift of gold.
From God's own hand, a radiant light,
Yet some see burdens, not delight.

In this era, echoes persist,
Dowries demanded, a darkened twist.
A daughter's worth, beyond all measure,
Yet some seek riches, not her treasure.

Oh, fathers weep for gifts gone astray,
As dowry demands cast shadows gray.
Think, oh grooms, before you claim,
A daughter's love, not wealth or fame.

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"Aspire to be the unwritten chapter in every student's journey, where your voice echoes not only as a teacher but as a steadfast ally, whispering, 'I stand with you always—go forth and breathe life into your dreams.'"

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"As a teacher, reflecting on my past as a student unveils the blueprints of my pedagogical path. I strive to shield my students from the echoes of my own errors, fostering an environment where strictness is the sentinel, yet undiscovered is the camaraderie beneath the stern facade."

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I began to understand that suffering and disappointments and melancholy are there not to vex us or cheapen us or deprive us of our dignity but to mature and transfigure us...

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Within you, there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at anytime and be yourself. Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror.Just keep going.
No feeling is final.

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