Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
Once upon, I spoke to her one day from afar,
though I had never seen her.
Her fragrance awakened in me a sense
I had never known before.
Her voice—though silent—
was a whisper of love,
threading itself through the chambers of my soul.
My hand kept sketching her image
on the canvas of my heart
until I was captive to her gentle beauty.
Her breath carries the perfume of lilies.
Her eyes—like squirrels—
hold sparks of wonder.
Her neck, the fleeting grace of a gazelle.
Her cheeks, pillows
where my face could rest in peace.
Her hair, a willow:
I find shade there from the burning sun.
It flutters with pride, with grace.
When she walks,
the earth itself dances.
When she speaks,
her words are silver,
yet her silence gleams with the gold of wisdom.
When she gazes,
a thousand sighs wander in her eyes.
When she sits,
the Nile sings in celebration of her presence.
When she inhales,
the air itself competes—
which breath shall dwell first within her?
When she exhales,
roses surrender,
for her fragrance fertilizes the world with bloom.
When she tastes,
morsels are blessed—
her lips, her birdlike mouth,
her tongue of lilies.
Few may notice her,
yet her aura of peace and scent
is enough to still the storm in every soul.
And when I met her at last,
her true image
was the very portrait my dreams had drawn.
How often had I longed
for such a meeting on the banks of the Nile,
where the Kazakh Lily makes her home.
And yesterday—
fate unveiled her to me.
There, upon the Nile’s eternal shore,
I held a thread of whispered speech,
showing her the dwelling of the Kazakh Angel
in the river’s embrace.
And she, with quiet joy,
began to capture the moment in pictures—
a keepsake,
a tribute to the poem:
“The Nile Lily… and the Kazakh Angel.”
Such is love, noble and pure:
a dwelling for souls,
a sanctuary for hearts,
a window through which the world hears
a whisper of love—
a whisper that shall never fade.
