Ashraf AboArafe
The moments of confession surprise me,
a longing for words awakens each time I sit with her,
gazing into her eyes,
while the cadence of her voice flows into my depths,
a strange alchemy slipping into my soul.
My memory stirs with the finest details—
and there is sweetness in speech,
sweetness in silence,
sweetness in the grace of beginnings,
sweetness in pausing for breath before wandering deeper,
sweetness in choosing a word from among its sisters,
sweetness in the calmness of her tone,
sweetness in lifting her gaze to the horizon.
Between words and emotions,
laughter sometimes blooms,
and at times, tears shimmer—
especially when the tale drifts to those beloved who have gone,
and joy leaves us slowly,
with each one who departs.
O willow of my soul,
mulberry tree whose shade alone made life safe—
she was my mother.
May God embrace her with vast mercy.
