I simply love the perfect sound, the voice that praise the Al Mighty, the voices of children when they giggle, the sound of raindrop. I adore brave children fighting with stones and sticks in front of mighty tank. I envy those who are handicap, yet die as matyr, those who achieve the total freedom from this worldly live, those who will drink from the pond of Al Kautsar, those who comprehend the meaning of Makrifat. I rather become an Ayyar then to inherit the wealth of Bill Gates, fight under the flag of Al Mahdi, and strictly uphold the concept of Futuwwah. And admire the person whose in his hand the sword of Dzulfiqzar.


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