Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
1987…
As if blossoms bloomed between my ribs,
And the world lit up in your eyes…
So I became you, and you became me,
Together in every detail.
Your words would beat my pulse to speak,
Your laughter summed up the world,
Your whispers rested on my shoulder…
Like a song that never dies.
A noble love… untouched by deceit or doubt,
Pure as the rain,
Tender as a mother’s prayer at dawn,
True… like a child’s first confession.
How often I plucked a grape cluster of goat’s vine,
Its nectar flowing on your lips,
Honeyed above… and swarming with bees below.
How I wove dreams of engagement,
Of gold and diamonds,
For a time foretold,
Where sorrow had no path to my heart.
Together we loved the path of:
“Rise for the teacher and pay him due respect…”
And foreign tongues were our refuge,
From Arabic words that tore nobility apart with treachery.
What remained between us… was a common factor,
While the rest of the elements burned away,
By those who wore the garb of intellect falsely,
And strangled truth with whispers of certainty.
And just as our dreams began to soar,
Arrows rained down…
From where we least expected,
From the family,
From behind walls of fake affection,
From those closest to us…
Who sat at our tables,
Drank our coffee,
Then poisoned our absence with betrayal.
Our pure love collapsed,
Shattered in corners of suspicion and whisper,
And I kept trying to mend it with my heartbeat…
But it could no longer endure.
Then…
The decision came like a sword to my neck:
They said: “Nooo…”
Even if I carried the sky on my back for her!
And they sent messengers to her family one after another,
Bearing “No” from every side,
And coldness that could neither warm the heart nor build a home.
Some came later…
Like the father-in-law of my brother’s wedding,
To complete the murder of my grieving, broken heart.
So the gold of engagement,
The pearls of our dream,
Became my brother’s share… by force, not by desire.
I gathered the shards of my soul,
To bless and congratulate,
Among those who mocked me,
Drumming… and piping…
Leave me… let my tears water the hills and plains,
How much they planted thorns in my childish palms,
How much I bled, to water a shy rose…
Only for it to fall, poisoned,
Its petals withered, the scent of hope slain.
How much I asked for love’s nectar,
But you answered not…
Instead, you chose departure,
As if fate made it clear.
I picked the roses, poured water on them,
To fill a bottle of passion with nostalgia’s scent,
My artery spilled, my vein lost,
My limbs collapsed, longing for eternal dwelling in you…
But the bells of malice struck down
A noble love that stood alone like a honed sword.
And after you… I was no longer me.
Nor were those around me as they imagined,
In the eyes, distraction,
In the smiles, tremors of betrayal,
In the heart, a pain…
That hides behind a smile shaped by lips, not by peace.
Even the one who came after you,
A life partner with no guilt,
Found no homeland in my heart,
Only lived beside ruins
Where longing bleeds every moment.
She suffers, and knows…
That a heart once held by a woman
Remains captive within her,
She found no escape,
Nor did I,
Nor the memory…
Nor the jasmine withered.
But fate,
Which spared the deceivers for a while,
Made them taste the bitterness of what they sowed in wickedness.
Some lost spouse and child,
Some were divorced again and again,
Some were stricken with incurable illnesses,
In the deception of a “wolf of a husband,”
Some lived their lives…
With meaningless words.
Here I am…
Not gloating,
But my pain has deepened, my grief doubled,
I never wished my enemy to taste the heartbreak I’ve endured.
But…
Let it who sows thorns beware,
For love, when planted truly, is purer… and more healing.
So do not say:
“The world turned its back on me,”
For perhaps you walked the wrong path yourself…
Do not blame the road,
Nor burden fate with the confusion of a wandering heart.
So, you who have a shadow…
Taste from memory its honey,
And from the lesson its bitterness.
