Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
She is…
not a woman passing through life,
but a lifetime embodied in a woman,
a meaning that took form
until it became a face,
a name,
a pulse that cannot be denied.
She is the one who, when she arrives,
time halts in reverence,
and when she smiles,
time rearranges its heartbeats
to the rhythm of her own,
as if asking her permission
to keep moving.
In her eyes,
chaos finds rest,
anxiety learns the meaning of serenity,
and questions grow shy
before the abundance of answers.
As if God
condensed the wisdom of Eve
into a single glance
and silenced the world with it.
My ambassador of love…
She carried no passport,
yet she carried my heart
from the shores of bewilderment
to the harbors of certainty,
and taught me that arrival
is not a step,
but a companionship.
She is womanhood at its fullness:
modesty that does not weaken,
strength that does not harden,
wisdom that does not pretend,
and beauty that does not shout,
but simply appears…
and everything else falls silent.
When she walks,
meanings bow
to clear her path,
and when she speaks,
noise resigns
in quiet shame.
She is the companion of the journey,
not the one who holds the hand alone,
but the one who holds life itself
so it does not fall,
and gently steadies the soul
when it grows weary of being strong.
I loved her
because she was not a promise,
but a loyalty that preceded the question,
and because when she came,
she did not change me,
but returned me to myself:
truer,
calmer,
and more grateful
to the time
that turned and turned…
only to stop at her.
O my ambassador of love,
O wheel of my days,
turn as you wish…
for I have chosen
to arrive with you,
neither before you
nor after you.
And so,
I no longer search for the road,
as long as Eve
has become my compass.
