Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
To the heart
around which my heart once revolved
for months—
nearly a year,
I was happy with you:
a companion to silence,
a spark that stirred my poems into being.
I did not know
there was an owner of the garden,
that the roses belonged to another hand.
I entered seeking nectar,
returning each time
laden with fragrance and words.
Today,
the keeper of the garden
knocked gently on my heart,
asking me to leave
the place I had learned to love.
So I bowed—
not in defeat,
but in reverence for fate
when it redraws the paths of those who pass through us.
I offer my warmest wishes,
hoping God fills your lives
with lasting light
and an ease that never fades.
And let my poems remain—
and this, perhaps, is enough—
a memory that keeps watch
at the edges of time,
as long as I breathe.
I do not say goodbye;
goodbyes are locks,
and I leave meaning half-open.
So—until we meet,
I sing to you both
of harmony and children,
and wish you a peace
that does not depart.
