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Yanma Hidayah

Updated: Sun, 17 May 2026 02:34 pm

@yeha_1899

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Biography

If you stumble upon this page, Hi 👋 and welcome 😊. Thank you for taking the time to visit my blog! I hope you find something positive here, and may your day be a wonderful one ❤

I Am Nobody!

I am nobody When my career is gone I am nobody When my money is gone I am nobody When my name is gone I am nobody When my body is gone I am nobody! I am no body?! I am a nobody who puts some glitter on I am a no body who I call Myself

She Who is Called A Monster

Her world once ran on her behalf, She freely enjoyed her stuff, Brushing the town so confidently, Proudly showing her beauty. Walking towards a long road, Her body broke, Pain spreading deep into her bones, Yet she holds on to hope. Inside her tiny little body, She carries majesty, That's what is called a baby, A forerunner that will lead the world to where it is to be. Some call her a monster, But they don’t know, the loneliness growing within her. She was once just a girl, Until the world named her a mother. When she falls into the blue, Don’t ask why she doesn’t understand you. She may not even understand herself, Yet still, child, husband, home, she gave them life.

The Father’s Serenade

In the evening, He starts singing, Between two legs crossing, Confessing sins through wording, Merging silence with truths he's meeting, His voice rippling as waves keep unfolding. His serenade of the evening, Filling the air in the name of healing, Soothing birds in cages to sleeping Letting clams breathe free from the drying, A hymn calming the ocean’s surging. And even babies stop crying, While evil spirits are running. He keeps forgiving, Never judging, His heart keeps aiming, Toward God everlasting.

The Most Gracious

Let me tell you how kind my Lord is, I share Him all my desires with honest bliss. He grants them as swiftly as can be seen, But some take longer to intervene. Especially the desires I hold most dear, He wants me to be patient and persevere. No, He does not mock my mortal plan. He asks me to grow and be the best I can. He wants me to receive not just the prize, But to be ready, fulfilled, and wise. My Lord is kind beyond what I can see, It’s just that I’m too foolish to agree, Blind to what’s truly better for me. His love refines the soul in me.

A Fleeting Beauty

She has to look pretty, No fat on her belly, She has to be extraordinary. Looking for what people agree, She wants them to see Her beauty in reality. Her body Becomes rent-free, As everybody's fantasy. She is an irony, Wanting to be free; She is the one who brings a soul into reality. But society has bought her dignity. They tell her what she needs to be. She follows because she needs her sanity.

Coming Home

A heavy knock striking the door, Shakes the room with stone walls. Truth stands to come, Is it being lost, or going home? What am I really afraid of? Death, or what’s going to come of? It is both death and being called home. God… I want to give You a smile, not dark foam.

When The Home Is You

You’re always searching for a home, one that shelters your soul. But have you ever wondered if it might live beneath your armor? Perhaps the softest place to land has been inside you all this time. Even if it feels abandoned, what if you dusted off the corners, gently, without needing to be whole at once? Don’t force the finding. Even if you find nothing, perhaps it’s just “not yet.” “Not yet found”, doesn’t that sound a little kinder? Let hope keep burning, but never let it burn you. Never stop being the most honest version of you. Because when you can’t see it, I see you as a home. Even these words have chosen you as their home.

Always Be Your Baby Girl

Your lullabies stitched together my dreams, from the smallest beginnings to the big ones I could imagine. The monster behind the door terrified her, but you slapped the monster. Without fear, protecting your baby girl. Through my late-night fear, you taught me love always near, a first forever, gentle, sincere. Father, here are my little confessions: from my teenage years until I grew older, you are always my first forever. Even if someday, I walk with another hand in mine, still in my eye, you are my guiding light, that shines like stars in the sky. Someday, your baby’s gonna have a baby, but Father... I am still your baby girl, who loved to be sheltered from late-night fears under your shoulder.

B(e)

i am — b for my be a young lady on a journey, trying to seek self-clarity. My daddy told me, be clear about your intentions, be careful not to lose direction. “But baby, I am here for your protection.” My mother told me, marriage is not about celebration or a diamond ring, but about mundane things—even when you’re crying, you still have to keep going. My bestie spilled some tea about the guys in her reality. Person A, the first person to say her “Hi,” but then the first one to say goodbye. Person B: “You’re not gonna believe what I see,” she says—he’s a jerk in the industry. Person C is the perfect harmony for her melody, but her mother doesn’t agree. She says, “He doesn’t come from money.” Then she turns to me, “What about you, bestie?” Well… I’m not really looking for someone, but I am waiting for the one. Then she just pinches my cheek, with her eyes staring deep, “How you gonna get the one, if you’re not looking for someone?” And I say, “I know someday, God’s gonna make me feel I’ve won.” ’cause I am — be I learn from my history, I don’t need therapy. word after word, line after line, I learn from time to time, which one is the perfect E for my B.

When I Have No Choice, but to Miss You

I took the next train, as rain found me again. Fine traces gently line the window, bringing back your gentle shadow. But when I reached out my hand, it could no longer stand. You are a familiar old landscape, with feelings I can’t escape. Two eyes that once found each other, two hands that once held each other. They've chosen different destinations, drifting toward their own constellations. I don’t know which train will carry the rain with me. So I let myself sit, hoping the sun where you are still shines as brightly as it once did back when laughter knew where we are.

Purple

Some colors are questionable, why do we keep returning to the same circle? learning how to breathe inside a bubble, digging for meaning beneath the rubble, sometimes I feel I am a stranger. On the road of becoming a winner, where some leaves must fall into wonder. God is the reason to be better, so I learned. From purple to the jungle. I found a miracle. I cannot meet all the expectations that they place within their invitations. No, I do not shape my life for them, under God’s will, I stand as a servant.

The Little Ice Cream and Chocolate Cake

On the train that early morning, while my tears were falling, a little girl with the softest smile I still remember, her eyes met mine in the mirror. That little girl I locked in my chest, the reason behind my rose-colored glasses. A place where hopes and dreams do not belong to classes. letting down our insecurities, we fall into gravity. thank you for holding me tightly. You kept the warmth of our name, despite the times I caused you pain. She is the one I want most to protect, through the taste of ice cream and chocolate cake.

For Every Child

The child was all alone, looking for answers, but no one was home, not even a whisper. No one told that child, “It’s okay to feel pain, it’s okay to fall apart under the rain.” The child learns to cry, and still finds the strength to try. When a wound blooms in his tender little heart, tell me, who do we blame from the start? And then the child became a parent. Not knowing how to be present. —Alone— The children don’t know right from wrong, they’re still learning how to be strong. From one to another, when hurt passes through those hearts, tell me, who do we blame from the start?

Lost in Translation

The moon was written to glow in a borrowed light, speaking a language only in the silence of night. While on the far side of the sky, the greater light shines, in ways no borrowed light can define. The distance fate has long been stretched, longing feels even more forbidden, yet sacred. Not a second passes without the moon longing for its source of light, yet its longing is not a language that can be translated in the daylight. They speak from opposite sides of the same soul, but are never allowed to come together as whole.

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Commments

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Yanma Hidayah

Mon 15th Dec 2025 08:20

Thank you so much @Martin Elder. My father lives within it. When I was a baby, at maghrib—the time just after sunset—my cousins were asked to look after me while my parents prayed. Later, I took on the same role with my younger siblings, reciting "shalawat" or at least reading Surah Al-Ikhlas ten times, only after that were we allowed to watch TV. We believe maghrib is a time of transition, when unseen beings begin their activities, and that babies, with their still-pure energy, are more vulnerable to disturbance.

My father also loved keeping birds; in the morning, he would place their cages on the terrace, and in the evening, bring them back inside the house. In the poem, this image can also be read metaphorically—about something being confined, as if those gentle serenade could lull a trapped mind into rest.

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Martin Elder

Sat 13th Dec 2025 16:52

The Fathers serenade is beautiful

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Yanma Hidayah

Thu 11th Sep 2025 05:31

@Wordseffectbrew, let’s spew the words! Thank you.

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Wordseffectbrew

Mon 11th Aug 2025 16:09

Thanks again for the like. May the words spew...

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