<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153044</id><updated>2011-04-21T20:52:18.405-05:00</updated><title type='text'>.:Boy who cried Fire:.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Saad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11313863247273179557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>8</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153044.post-109958245853438591</id><published>2004-11-04T10:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-04T10:37:57.350-05:00</updated><title type='text'>After the Election</title><content type='html'>So the news agencies have announced the winner, Kerry concedes. A day later, the away msgs tell the story from the Muslim youth, "its over, the world is coming to an end...," "4 more years of hell..," "glad i don't live in Iran," "i'm moving to Canada," "ohhiooo!!!" and so on. Faces are downcast and the sight of the monkey of a president on the screen bringing an overwhelming disgust to the sane. The world is shocked, how could 51 percent of the voters make this decision? As i look at the screen typing this i think to myself, what message are we sending as "democratic agents"? We do not value our liberties or respect our right to be listened to? News agencies have called this historic vote a mandate from the people to allow Bush to do whatever he wants and expect the support of the people. This was to be the day that the people rose and sent a message, instead the only message that was sent on tuesday was that the people of American are an idiotic, self centered people, who are naive enough to re-elect a clown of the white house,, free tickets, come tour the white house, its open monday through friday, you can watch people eating fire, and artists performing death defying stunts, ahh yes the circus of democracy continues...4 more years, enjoy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8153044-109958245853438591?l=boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/feeds/109958245853438591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8153044&amp;postID=109958245853438591' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109958245853438591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109958245853438591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/2004/11/after-election.html' title='After the Election'/><author><name>Saad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11313863247273179557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153044.post-109647587632928664</id><published>2004-09-29T12:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-29T11:37:56.330-05:00</updated><title type='text'>dreams: a glimpse of the unseen</title><content type='html'>i have no idea what to write about what i do know is the continuation of me living a healthy life depends on me writing this blog entry RIGHT NOW.  hmm a random subject on my mind.  how AMAZING are dreams.  i mean, think about it, u are lying there, then you begin to get drousy and the images of your room begin to fade and then there is a deep blankets.  suddenly you are in a completely different world.  you can visit places u have never seen and been with ppl and places/images you could have never imagine.  its like you are out of this temporary world, our souls have been lifted.  Its almost like God is reminding us that this world in temporal and there is more to life than what meets the eye, there is so much more to come, so much more to experience.  dreams have the power to inspire, to motivate, to give one a vision in life.  i wish more studies were being done on dreams and modern dream interpretations and how dreams have kept the spirits of ppl in the worst conditions (refugees, etc) in high spirit...interesting stuff..at least for me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8153044-109647587632928664?l=boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/feeds/109647587632928664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8153044&amp;postID=109647587632928664' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109647587632928664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109647587632928664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/2004/09/dreams-glimpse-of-unseen.html' title='dreams: a glimpse of the unseen'/><author><name>Saad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11313863247273179557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153044.post-109557617872201142</id><published>2004-09-19T01:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-19T01:54:16.576-05:00</updated><title type='text'>"Red, White, and Brown" Fake Desi Culture</title><content type='html'>I talk to myself...chronically. It's actually really great because this way, no one can interupt you. Its like an eternal audience of willing listeners and a soap box for my endless thoughts. Of course, this works well for everything but ranting, because ranting is only fun when you have someone to rant to and it is for this reason that i have chosen to use this blog entry to rant about an issue that bothers me greatly and that is "fake/artificial" desi cultural awareness and identity. I have had a newly awakened pakistani cultural awareness (ending my long years of my arab wannabe stage)...but its sad to see people on campus who first cannot distinguish between hindu and pakistani culture and yes there is a huge difference, even though we are both brown and speak a similar language. but somehow, if its eastern, its ok to do and if its western, then suddenly we enforce our moral code (if even then). Then you see all these kids on campus who never cared about their paki/indian heritage and suddenly they are in college now and in trying to counteract a "being brown, inferiority complex"..they have this FAKE "brown pride" identity, when in reality they idolize the white majority. this trend can be seen in the african community, after years of discrimination, this noble race was put in the situation of feeling the inferiority complex (for the desis, this was British colinization), and they react to this complex by this fake rhetoric, "we are not only not inferior but superior," (black panthers, nation of islam, etc). Brown ppl have this, so when a paki goes to campus, they join the ethnic group because its suddenly "cool" to be ethnically diverse and culturally aware, and what aspect of culture are adopted, even when they are pakistani culture and not indian, they focus on food, clothing, and movies, what about the morals, values, deeper culture, not to mention historic realities? btw, drinking is not part of the hindu culture, just thought i would add that in, which makes u question why it is so closely characterized with these so called "south asian society events" which are really another name for "hindu society events," if you don't mind me being so blunt. we should be culturally aware because of the richness of what pakistan and india has to give to us, not bollywood. Forget bollywood actors A-Z ending their name with "khan"...we are the culture of Muhammed Iqbal! Bhangra is cool but thats not what it means to be desi and our culture should NOT be reserved for rangila weekend. we don't need "brown pride..." just a healthy respect and appreciation of our roots and respect of our land. oh yeah..btw...paki culture is amazing, no need for inferiority, we have so much to give and have given improportionately to the Islamic effort in america, so heads up desis! not in arrogance but with some level of depth of understanding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8153044-109557617872201142?l=boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/feeds/109557617872201142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8153044&amp;postID=109557617872201142' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109557617872201142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109557617872201142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/2004/09/red-white-and-brown-fake-desi-culture.html' title='&quot;Red, White, and Brown&quot; Fake Desi Culture'/><author><name>Saad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11313863247273179557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153044.post-109548814287288895</id><published>2004-09-18T01:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-18T01:19:20.350-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A day at the embassy</title><content type='html'>so i spent the day at the pakistani embassy today, it is actually REALLY NICE, we just got it built recently, at least we're getting something out of having to submit our political sovereignty to the US. but anyways...very cool place, great place to make connections, and i really feel like i am gaining more and more appreciation for the rich pakistani culture and more and more love for Pakistan in general, i still don't like the idea of nationalism, but you gotta love your people, theres something bout the dusty air of karachi and lahore that cannot be equated with an american city, Americans Home, but Pakistan is where my blood finds it's home, and thus, always special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but yeah..inshallah i'll be interning at the embassy this semester and with senator Dan Burton next semester. EXCITING TIMES!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hmm i think my next article will have to do with Kashmir...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8153044-109548814287288895?l=boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/feeds/109548814287288895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8153044&amp;postID=109548814287288895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109548814287288895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109548814287288895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/2004/09/day-at-embassy.html' title='A day at the embassy'/><author><name>Saad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11313863247273179557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153044.post-109540303888276219</id><published>2004-09-17T01:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-17T01:37:18.883-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mirage of Dreams</title><content type='html'>I cry not for my love, but for my heart that is still beating&lt;br /&gt;I weep not for the night but for the day that is now leaving&lt;br /&gt;I live not a moment, though my mouth is yet breathing&lt;br /&gt;For what is life, when without you, I'm still waiting?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreams carry me off, but to all nights there is a waking&lt;br /&gt;Stars promise mansions but in shacks I am still shaking&lt;br /&gt;I close my eyes and touch, but it is my own face I am feeling&lt;br /&gt;I wear inscribed rings for a chance of believing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no cause in my fight, but the war is still raging&lt;br /&gt;No water for my soul, but my heart is still blazing&lt;br /&gt;I know I am lost, but cannot stop roaming&lt;br /&gt;I imagine a mirage, and to that I am walking&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Saad&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8153044-109540303888276219?l=boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/feeds/109540303888276219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8153044&amp;postID=109540303888276219' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109540303888276219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109540303888276219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/2004/09/mirage-of-dreams.html' title='Mirage of Dreams'/><author><name>Saad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11313863247273179557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153044.post-109540261025821043</id><published>2004-09-17T01:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-17T01:34:03.646-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh my People </title><content type='html'>By: Saad Omar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dedicated to: To the Light&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Inspired by “My Countrymen” by the Great Khalil Gibran)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my people, I have oppressed you with years of silence, at the dawn of your own demise&lt;br /&gt;I have lay mute in deep blankets, afraid of what darkness the morning light would reveal&lt;br /&gt;I have caged my words in walls, swallowed my own breath&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But oh my people, the years have worn down the stone, and the waves tremble to break through&lt;br /&gt;If I live only a moment more, let me spend it, speaking words of truth, praying it falls not to deaf ears, dead hearts, forgotten souls&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seen the old, look to the young for wisdom, and the strong, demand support from the feeble.&lt;br /&gt;I have seen the poor, sick from thirst and the rich overwhelmed with drink&lt;br /&gt;My eyes are scarred black from your thoughts and numbed by your deeds&lt;br /&gt;With every blink, its lids close upon fire, your endless desires torture me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seen love become a lost gem, drowned in winds of lust&lt;br /&gt;I have seen riders of a forgotten cause; travel alone on an abandoned path&lt;br /&gt;I have watched rings turn to rust, forgotten symbols of a forgotten trust&lt;br /&gt;I have watched the few Nobles, cry alone at night, longing for the chance to love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have heard the mother curse her child, and the child imprison his womb&lt;br /&gt;I have seen the son a stranger to love, and the father a stranger to his own&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is it in virtue that you so passionately repulse?&lt;br /&gt;Your every stare, a look of sin&lt;br /&gt;Your every thought, a shallow whim&lt;br /&gt;Your every meal, a forbidden taste&lt;br /&gt;Your every word, a breath left to waste&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What keeps you from joining the birds in their morning songs?&lt;br /&gt;Have you never felt the morning dew as it drips off the veins of a fresh green leaf?&lt;br /&gt;No, for you lie like dead leaves, refusing to return to the ground&lt;br /&gt;Your voice is hoarse from war, no hope for chorus or sound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever watched the sparrow as it ascends to the heaven?&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever seen how the snow falls, forming white sheets of paradise?&lt;br /&gt;What prevents you from rising to your mansion amongst the stars?&lt;br /&gt;Why are you cursed to stain the beautiful white land with the deepest red blood?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world was made to serve you, but you treat it without care&lt;br /&gt;God is a generous Landlord, yet you pay not rent&lt;br /&gt;The heavens pour down grace, yet you remain empty and dry&lt;br /&gt;There is no awakening for the sleeper who is already dead&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only those who have died, speak with truth&lt;br /&gt;In deep tombs their wisdom echoes still&lt;br /&gt;Yet the alive run too fast to hear the sound&lt;br /&gt;Muffled words come from the dark graveyard ground&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Divorce not loyalty and be not a mistress of lies,&lt;br /&gt;For a child conceived from deceit,&lt;br /&gt;Can never bring contentment to the eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beware of the sword of your worst enemy and the praise of your closest friend&lt;br /&gt;For pride is poison, and from the inferno this bite is sent&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where art thou, oh Fair Andalusia?&lt;br /&gt;Have you faded with Antioch and your noble brethren?&lt;br /&gt;Will the world never again see such glory?&lt;br /&gt;Yours grand gardens, crystal rivers, beautiful citizens?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Where art thou oh Great Athens?&lt;br /&gt;Will the land of Socrates return to Reason?&lt;br /&gt;Will all paths lead to Rome, to wisdom once again?&lt;br /&gt;Or have we forgotten the way of the ancients?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am fading away like the diamond filled sky&lt;br /&gt;The darkness is too much, my dreams are overcome&lt;br /&gt;But I will not stop fighting as long as I have a life to let die&lt;br /&gt;For it is better to die for life than live in death&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8153044-109540261025821043?l=boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/feeds/109540261025821043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8153044&amp;postID=109540261025821043' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109540261025821043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109540261025821043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/2004/09/oh-my-people.html' title='Oh my People '/><author><name>Saad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11313863247273179557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153044.post-109540199513542065</id><published>2004-09-17T01:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-17T01:19:55.136-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hormone driven, shallow thinking jerks</title><content type='html'>alright, i write this blog entry, in a state of absolute outrage and the shallowness, which is the male.  the guy is taught in this society to have a one track mind (women) and one goal in their futile lives (objectifying women).  and so when a decent guy comes around, and yes there are a few (maybe like 4) in a million, he is a "player"..."pimp"..."mack"..because he respect girls and thus they like him. (realize that even their word choice is limited to their one track thinking "pimp..etc".  i am thinking of asking a group of chimpanzees to study these creatures, also known as sleezy guys to observe their behavior and see what is the root of these pathetic and utterly dispicable character traits that make them unfitting to a humane society, maybe its something they eat? hmm or maybe its just other sickly boys that they call their "crew." More like a pack, a pack of preditors that prey on their "ladies..." that they call when they are around them, and in the locker room, or apartment, yeah...not so pleasant names of reference...to say the least.  God have mercy on my sisters (yes even the muslim sisters...) good luck finding a husband and may God be with you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8153044-109540199513542065?l=boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/feeds/109540199513542065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8153044&amp;postID=109540199513542065' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109540199513542065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109540199513542065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/2004/09/hormone-driven-shallow-thinking-jerks.html' title='Hormone driven, shallow thinking jerks'/><author><name>Saad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11313863247273179557</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8153044.post-109400294309818476</id><published>2004-08-31T20:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-31T20:42:23.096-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bismillah Ar-Rahman, Ar-Raheem</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:85%;color:#006600;"&gt;Salam.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8153044-109400294309818476?l=boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/feeds/109400294309818476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8153044&amp;postID=109400294309818476' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109400294309818476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8153044/posts/default/109400294309818476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://boywhocriedfire.blogspot.com/2004/08/bismillah-ar-rahman-ar-raheem.html' title='Bismillah Ar-Rahman, Ar-Raheem'/><author><name>Noura</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
