Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
She danced upon a swaying bough, so shy,
Like twilight stars adrift in velvet sky.
The mother tree, with branches bowed and bare,
Braved springtime winds with silent, tender care.
She stood through storms, through thirst, through biting heat,
Rooted in soil both bitter and sweet.
And when her fruit of love had fully grown,
It dropped — a golden jewel, gently thrown.
The mango fell — not out of grief or loss,
But in farewell, beneath the evening gloss.
A lucky soul, drawn by the scent divine,
Reached for the gift, its nectar like sweet wine.
He paused — to eat with hunger’s fierce delight,
Or keep her close, a queen in golden light?
For in her flesh lies nature’s healing grace:
She guards the heart, brings glow to weary face.
She soothes the gut, and sets the kidneys free,
Her fibers dance with calm vitality.
She shields the eyes with pigments rich and wise,
And lifts the soul where silent healing lies.
Yet still, he ate — with thanks and silent prayer,
Then laid her seed with hope and gentle care.
He planted her, that she may rise once more,
To grace the earth as she had done before.
So praise the One who weighed both fruit and root,
Who gave the earth such golden, healing fruit.
Do we, as mortals, see and understand —
The love in trees… the wisdom in His hand?
Glory to Him — the Balanced, the Most High,
Who wrote such truths in mangoes from the sky.
