Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
O Tehro of the soul—how does silence hide its pulse?
How does a heart endure a fire it cannot show?
I call you in my blood, and echoes begin to tremble,
Words flee, ashamed before the blaze of longing.
I draw near—you ignite the distances.
I pull away—directions collapse within me.
Your fragrance hunts me, even in absence,
Your honey lives in my wounds like a promise deferred.
Tehro breathes your name as a living pulse,
And I wish to be a single flower in its chest.
I wish to be a spring nourished by your hands,
Or a shadow seeking refuge in your mercy amid the fire.
O Tehro, longing is not weakness—
It is a strength that teaches me how to burn for you.
If hearts fall silent, my heart screams your name,
And if silence trembles—it trembles because of you.
