Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
O land where dark-hued words are born and bloom,
Once torn by winds of sorrow and of time —
Now Tripoli, awakened, smiles again,
Her heart aglow with beauty and reborn flame.
Within the Book Fair’s halls, pure voices rise,
Their songs of learning soar above the years;
No prison binds the mind that dreams of dawn,
No law restrains the soul that seeks the truth.
Then came Al-Siddiq Al-Sour, the steadfast man,
Bearing the torch of justice — calm, humane;
He built from letters palaces of light,
And from the ink, foundations of a nation.
The book itself spoke softly to his soul:
“You are our life, our wisdom, and our peace;
By you the minds are lit, the earth assured —
For justice breathes when guided by the pen.”
The Public Prosecution rose in grace,
A citadel of intellect and law;
It walked toward dawn unbowed, unafraid,
Where art and fairness met in unity.
No east, no west — no borders of the heart,
For culture’s gentle hand erased the rifts;
And Libya, beneath one sun, declared:
“Our words unite us, though the years have split.”
Each corner sang the breath of those who dream,
Each page a mirror of the brighter self;
And in the air, a fragrance like the moon,
A vision clothed in silk of peace and art.
The Center for Research and Training stood tall,
An arm of knowledge, builder of tomorrow;
No envy halts its march, no shadow dims
The light it spreads across the nation’s mind.
O Libya — beloved, proud, and pure,
You rise by letters, not by blood or war;
O oasis of the Arab soul and flame,
You dwell within our hearts — and never fade.
