Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
The angel comes—gifting dawn a song,
Planting pure longing where the world belongs.
But demons, rooted in the soil of hate,
Can only wound, and sprout thorns of fate.
Sweet is your day, whose gaze is light,
Angel of yesterday, of today, of endless night.
You dwell within, where absence cannot reign,
My soul’s companion, through joy and through pain.
Thanks to the Lord, who gave my heart your eyes,
Through them I saw the sun in its rise.
Walls of my heart began to sway,
Dancing in rapture, fearless of decay. 🌹
Thus came my verse, O angel of grace,
For when I love—letters turn to clouds I chase.
And clouds embrace, in thunder they sing,
Till rain pours down, breaking through the mist’s ring.
It strikes the earth in joy of meeting,
The ground exults, in its embrace repeating,
Sprouting pairs, in beauty untold:
Dates, fresh fruits, and jujubes of gold.
O angel who never departs,
My poetry rests on your silence or starts—
A captive of nothingness… or of staying alive.
