Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
O Beijing, be gentle…
How deeply your splendid weeping willows have gladdened and saddened my heart.
My soul trembled, and the willow of a distant yesterday cried out from within me.
Then her radiant face emerged before my eyes,
a face sculpted from pure light.
Her eyes were two rivers of crystal serenity
in which horizons willingly drowned.
Her lips were the smile of dawn itself whenever she smiled,
and her graceful stature surpassed the willow branches in tenderness and elegance.
I still see her willow-like hair flowing before me,
rippling softly in the wind,
its silky touch beyond comparison.
Those were the days when innocence was the most precious garment we wore.
How often we played together the games of love and longing.
We hid among the shadows in childhood games of hide-and-seek.
How often we raced across the grass,
outrunning even our own shadows.
Together we gathered wild berries,
mulberries blushing with beauty,
mangoes, cherries, and countless fruits besides.
Each of us would offer the other
the sweetness of nature’s purest nectar.
How often we plunged beneath the water,
challenging one another:
whose breath could linger longer against time?
How often we leapt from the mountainside
into the embrace of the deep river,
competing with gazelles in swiftness
and fish in freedom.
And how many seasons of genuine joy we lived—
joy that neither fades nor dies.
Today I wander through your streets,
and through the verdant avenues of Shenzhen.
Among towering trees and endless greenery,
whenever my eyes fall upon a tree,
I see her dwelling within its lofty heights.
The willow branches seem to listen
to the echo of her presence
with delight and wonder.
All the trees compete
for the honor of embracing her,
and I find myself consumed by a strange jealousy.
I stand between the willow branches and my beloved,
guarding her as though I were a wall of devotion.
Then I whisper softly:
“I am the lover…
and there is no other.”
Whenever the breeze courts her
among the forest of towering forms
and scatters her flowing hair,
I ask the willow to extend its branches
and shield her from every gaze.
How often I once arranged her hair with my fingers,
just as I now arrange the sorrowful branches
of the weeping willow mourning our separation.
How many willow twigs I gathered
and imagined weaving into her braids,
until even the willow itself
would envy the magnificence of her beauty.
The years passed,
and we grew together in form and appearance.
Alongside us grew our memories,
our dreams,
and the silent promises hidden within our hearts.
Again and again we pledged
that we were two bodies
animated by a single soul.
Yet we never imagined
that betrayal would one day lie in wait for us,
splitting us apart into two wandering halves.
One journeyed east,
the other west.
Yet the memories endured—
joints that never broke,
bridges that never collapsed.
Even now,
a whisper still passes between us
through dreams and waking hours alike.
And whenever my beloved falls silent
after long years of yearning,
the willow branches ask her
to tell once more the story of an eternal love.
They ask her to describe the man
who once filled her universe.
To speak of his sheltering strength,
his heart as pure as rainwater gathered from the clouds,
his patience before the altars of separation,
and his steadfastness against every storm.
Fifty-seven years of distance and exile
have withered her branches
across the lands of East and West.
Yet today they bloom again
with unexpected vigor
here,
in the heart of China,
through the miracle of Beijing’s willow.
And now I stand astonished in your streets.
I no longer know:
Is it a human figure I glimpse
among those towering trees?
Or a spirit reborn by the willow of Beijing
to awaken a heart
that never truly forgot?
My Lord…
O Answerer of every sincere prayer,
O Lord of the heavens,
You who caused this willow to flourish
in a land so distant from home,
I beseech You by Your Majesty
to make this tree a bridge toward reunion,
and to grant healing and enduring presence
to two hearts melted by separation.
O Allah,
as long as Beijing breathes
through this tender willow,
make it a gateway
through which the soul may return
to the body drenched in longing.
Grant us a day
when we may once again inhale
the fragrance of innocence,
the sweetness of youthful wonder,
and the blessed madness of first love.
Let the thorns disappear,
and let longing remain alive forever—
preserved between the Divine command:
“Be”…
and it is.
Ameen…
Ameen…
Lord of all worlds.
