Ashraf AboArafe ✍️ & poetizes
In the halls of the Arab League, words rise like smoke—
yet beyond speeches lies a question that burns:
When will the nation set aside its old divisions?
When will dreams leap from speeches to streets,
from papers to power, from longing to life?
This is not a protocol session—
it is a mirror of history,
a test of whether we write our own chapter
or remain lines in the books of others.
Poetry!
Arabism cries, her children she calls,
“When will you answer? When will you stand tall?”
Enough of the speeches that vanish like mist,
true glory is forged when the arm and sword twist.
Where are your armies in hours of dread?
Why do your lances lie silent, unfed?
Where is the verdict to bind you as one?
Honor’s not ink in decrees left undone.
O oil of our deserts, O light of our age,
Why waste your fire in another man’s cage?
Gather your riches, build futures anew,
Let Arab hands sow, let Arab hearts brew.
Yet hope is a sun that refuses to die,
Breaking the night with its gold in the sky.
The dawn will arise from a nation restored,
Its youth will awaken, its spirit will soar.
Make the Qur’an your charter, a shield in your hand,
Justice and mercy to guard every land.
Build bridges of steel, of sea-lanes and air,
Where voices can mingle, where peoples can share.
Cast down the blind pride, the tribal disguise,
For unity lifts, while division denies.
Life is but fleeting, the world fades away,
But glory endures when the just carve their way.
Epilogue
Write for the future a page unstained,
A nation reborn, by its courage maintained.
For hope is a river, it carves through the night,
And Arab dawn rises with unbroken might.
One voice, one heartbeat, one stand, one claim—
The earth will tremble, the ages proclaim.
“Nation of Arabs—when you rise, the world shakes.”
