Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
It left—
they said it left—
and all I whispered was a prayer: go safe, go free.
I longed to speak a gentle farewell,
yet silence held its claim on me.
The nights grew long,
my tender smile grew faint,
and tears remained, a trust within my chest—
a fragile pledge I dared not break,
a weight my weary soul confessed.
I wished—
without a single spoken word—
to grant it peace upon its way;
to ease my heart with one soft blessing,
to lift the ache that would not stray.
We lied to all our passing nights
and said our hearts were calm, relieved;
we laughed as though the hurt was gone,
though deep within… we still believed.
We said, tomorrow it will come,
but years have drifted, cold and thin;
and still my heart asks mournfully:
“From where shall solace now begin?
From longing’s fire, or sorrow’s din?”
The nights went by,
the smile was lost,
and joy became a distant flame;
yet still my tears—those secret keepers—
spoke softly of its missing name.
We called to it across our void,
the echo trembling in our chest;
it never answered—what a pity,
that all we shared could turn to rest.
Where are the days we held so close?
The hours bright with tender grace?
They fled, as though the winds of time
had swept them to some nameless place.
No word from it—
as if the parting
taught its heart to now forget;
as though the past we lived together
were just a tale it might regret.
And still I wish,
though years have faded,
that I had said one last refrain:
Go safe… go gently…
and may peace accompany your path,
beyond the reach of grief and pain.
