Mina

.يا أبو قلب طيب يا غني بالرحمة جيت كللتني
و مسحت دموعي و ما اكتفيت بكيت معي....
.منحتني حياة ورحمة وحفظت عنايتك روحي ليك
لمستني بكل نعمة شددت فىّ الباقي ليك....
.حملتني و حملت عمري بالخير وياما احتملني
شهد ماضى ّإنك راعىّ و عبرت بىّ على منكبيك....
.نصرتني وقت انكساري وقت انهياري انتشلتني
مديون لك أنت ليلي و نهاري افضل اغني بالحب ليك..
.في كل ضيقي إتضايقت لى ّانيت معايا وشركتني
إتعلقت بى ّوأنا في القسية شديت ايدىّ خبتني فيك..

يا ابو قلب طيب..

ايها القدوس يارب الحياة

04 وعدتك

(Verse 1)

There’s a sadness with no meaning,
No reason I can name.
There’s an emptiness that waits for fill,
For more words and phrases to tame.

(Chorus)
Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel the spark,
A reason to light the softer parts.
Even the stillness has things to teach—
A turn of phrase or a part of speech.

(Verse 2)
I don't know who I am fooling,
I’m not being lazy, not sighing or deep—
I’m not sure that what I am writing
Is something that I want to keep.

(Chorus)
Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel the spark,
A reason to light the softer parts.
Even the stillness has things to teach—
A turn of phrase, a part of speech.

(Verse 3)
Should I want someone to see?
Do they want to see more of me?
This stillness wraps too tight for me—
It’s strangling the voice I used to be.

(Bridge)
I am falling, and I’m not fine.
Just slipping past the warning signs.
Not hurt enough to call it sprained—
And too much numb to feel the pain.

(Chorus)
Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel the spark,
A reason to light the softer parts.
Even the stillness has things to teach—
A turn of phrase or a part of speech.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel the spark,
A reason to light the softer parts.
Even the stillness has things to teach—
A turn of phrase or a part of speech.

Is it in my head or under my nose?
I need to think, try to compose.
I'll land a worded beauty—
And write the perfect prose.

There’s still so much waiting to be exposed.

***** Description *****

Blank Paper is a quiet confession, sung in a voice that is warm, weary, and searching. It drifts like smoke around the edges of thought, capturing the ache of a writer staring into silence, waiting for words that refuse to arrive. The verses move with gentle honesty, admitting doubt, fatigue, and the stranglehold of stillness, while the chorus holds onto a fragile hope—that perhaps tomorrow, inspiration will return.

Musically, it belongs to the intimate world of a Norah Jones–style ballad—soft, close, unadorned, the kind of song that feels like it’s being whispered across a kitchen table at midnight. There’s no grand flourish, only the tender persistence of someone who has carried words their whole life, now wrestling with their absence.

The cover reflects this essence: a wavering, glowing page, out of focus, not yet written on—symbolizing both the emptiness and the potential.

At its heart, Blank Paper is less about despair than about vulnerability. It is the sound of being suspended between silence and expression, knowing that even the struggle to write is its own kind of truth.

04 وعدتك

Sandra maher

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