Ashraf AboArafe
She danced upon the branch of life, so shy,
A star that flickers in the darkened sky.
She swayed, while mother-tree with gentle song
Shielded her child from tempests fierce and strong.
Awake upon a trunk that bore the weight
Of lonely nights, of trials stern and great.
It watched her sprout, through seasons harsh and dry,
Through burning thirst, through storms that lashed the sky.
And when her fruits of tenderness had grown,
A ripened beauty, to the world was shown.
She rocked herself into a lover’s hand,
Like souls that yield to farewells sweetly planned.
Her golden treasures fell with tender grace,
As if a spirit left with soft embrace.
The lucky one draws near, his senses stirred,
To breathe her musk, her fragrance gently heard.
Within her sweetness, aching souls are healed,
Her taste—life’s secret, tenderly revealed.
She is the friend to weary hearts and flesh,
A healer soft, a touch of welcome fresh.
Rich in her vitamins, her minerals pure,
She guards the heart, and makes the sight endure.
She lifts the weary face, restores the eyes,
And paints with light the brow that sorrow dries.
He fears to finish such delight so fast,
He longs to keep her flavor everlast.
Yet casts the seed upon the fertile land,
And life’s new kingdom rises from his hand.
Here shines Waddah al-Rifa‘i in her shade,
A mother planting fruits the West displayed.
Today she gathers “honeyed” harvest sweet,
Like tears of exiles finding home’s retreat.
Within her rests a mother’s loving art,
And roots regain their glory far apart.
Glory to Him who balanced earth and skies,
Who placed in roots and heavens wisdom’s ties.
So, children of mankind, will you not see?
Between delight and thanks, how near is He?
Glory to God—whose beauty softly weaves,
Stories for minds, like golden autumn leaves.
