The One Who Sings to Flowers | Aquela que canta para as flores

In the village of Flor do Sol, at the edge of Brazil’s shimmering Pantanal, there lived a girl named Lua whose voice once felt like a mercy.

When she recited near the jacarandá trees, their violet blossoms would fall like soft rain. The araras azuis (blue macaws) would circle overhead, and even the capybaras paused to listen.

But ever since her older sister Iara passed away in a flood, Lua hadn’t spoken. Her voice, once filled with light, had vanished. The garden behind their house withered. Orchids closed. Even the breeze felt heavier, as though the forest itself was grieving.

One afternoon, as the sun cast golden rays over the buriti palms, an old woman arrived — her steps silent, her presence gentle. Around her wrist was a simple misbaha, made of dark açaí seeds.

She sat beside Lua without a word. After some silence, she gently placed the beads in Lua’s palm and whispered:

That night, under a sky bright with stars and a crescent moon, Lua clutched the misbaha and whispered into the stillness:

The next morning, change arrived.

Orchids reopened, shimmering with dew. The jacarandá petals danced again in the wind. An emerald butterfly fluttered down to rest on Lua’s hand. And with her first breath of song, the forest seemed to exhale.

She hadn’t just found her voice — she had remembered the Source of all beauty.

In the wetlands of Brazil, where rivers reflect the sky and animals remember sounds, a girl’s dhikr awakened the world around her.

Al-Jamīl had heard her.

FIM

1.

Portuguese:
“A beleza pertence a Allah, Al-Jamīl — O Belo. Invoque-O, e Ele restaurará o que ninguém mais pode.”

Arabic:
ٱلْجَمَالُ لِلّٰه، ٱلْجَمِيلُ – ٱلْجَمِيل. ٱدْعُهُ، وَسَيُرْجِعُ مَا لَا يَقْدِرُ أَحَدٌ سِوَاهُ.

Transliteration:
Al-jamālu liLlāh, Al-Jamīl – Al-Jamīl. Ud‘uhu, wa-sayurji‘u mā lā yaqdiru aḥadun siwāh.

2.

Portuguese:
“Ó Belo, embeleze meu coração.”

Arabic:
يَا جَمِيلُ، أَجْمِلْ قَلْبِي

Transliteration:
Yā Jamīl, ajmil qalbī