Henna Aslam

Henna Aslam was a radiant soul who spoke in the quiet language of color and canvas, pouring her inner world into every piece she touched. Art was never merely something she created—it was how she breathed, how she found safety, how she made sense of the world. Gifted across many mediums, from oil paintings rich with emotion to digital art shaped by instinct and intention, her work carried a tenderness that lingered long after the first glance.

She began working with SAM Ruh at just 17 years old, while still in high school—young in age, yet already anchored in her voice. Henna possessed a strong sense of self, clear opinions, and a courage that quietly shaped her art. She painted not only for beauty, but for meaning—often lending her talent to causes she believed in, using her work as a form of witness, reflection, and gentle resistance.

Henna believed deeply in a just world. Her conversations were thoughtful, her questions intentional, her art often infused with reflections on fairness, humanity, and the moral weight of choice. Her faith in Islam was a grounding presence in her life—soft yet unwavering—informing both her worldview and her creative expression with humility, compassion, and purpose.

Art remained Henna’s refuge—her truest expression, her constant companion. Her time among us was heartbreakingly brief, her earthly journey concluding at only 20 years old, yet her presence feels enduring and alive. She lives on in the colors she chose, the honesty of her lines, and the courage of her convictions. In every brushstroke and every hue she left behind, Henna continues to speak—reminding us that some souls arrive not to stay long, but to leave the world more beautiful, more conscious, and more kind.

For Henna

She was young and true, the day I met her— Effortless, instant, I knew I’d love her. She spoke in sweet, swift stories and streams, The same through the years, through hopes and dreams. I look back now with tears in my eyes, Grief that stays, despite all tries. She was rare, I knew from the start— Few are born to play such a part. Sometimes she clung, sometimes touched light, I wasn’t her mother—but she was my daughter, right? I remember the day she sat by my side, Placed my head in her lap—and smiled with pride. I loved her love, the joy she gave, Her calm, her fire, the way she was brave. She stood like a leader, fierce and bright, With truth as her sword, and justice her fight. Then— I wrote the words, she sketched the lines, Together we built stories, signs and lives. We made history, left the crowd stirred, Our silence roared, our work was heard. How do I forget you, my child? You were subtle, untamed, forever so wild. They say you've gone, you left forever today, I wouldn't hear your voice or see you play. My heart, it breaks, it cries so loud, Yet the world moves on, quiet and proud. Henna, your name—etched deep and true, For souls like yours… are precious and few. I pray for your peace, your heavenly stay, May angels walk with you all the way. Love never leaves, and it cannot die— So we’ll stand tall, and we won’t cry. Still— The tears flow endless, these eyes grow tired, My soul sings sorrow, as memories are fired. I’ll wait for the day we meet once more— Till then, may God smile at you—and soar.