Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
An aged man, whose hopeful prayers had crossed the years,
Was blessed at last with one bright son beyond his tears.
Ishmael, the firstborn light within his weary eyes,
The moon that rose before Isaac graced his skies.
Then came a dream that shook the silence of his soul:
To sacrifice the child — obedience the goal.
He softly said: “My son…” The answer came serene:
“Fulfill God’s sacred will, no matter what it means.”
What noble grace! What sorrow hidden in farewell,
When even in his fear, the boy for his mother fell.
Hagar, the Egyptian mother, steadfast through despair,
Found strength in faith alone beneath the desert air.
***
Abraham walked on while storms consumed his chest,
Yet trust in God still guided every trembling step.
For eighty years his heart had waited through the night,
Until one child arrived and filled his world with light.
Then came the trial — the heavens held their breath,
And faith stood face to face before the blade of death.
***
And Ishmael replied with calmness pure and deep:
“My father, do as God commands you faithfully.”
“Fear not for me, for sacrifice exalts the soul,
And true submission brings the broken spirit whole.”
“But be so kind unto my mother when you return,
For grief may set her faithful heart and tears to burn.”
***
O Hagar, spring of patience flowing through the sand,
You taught the weary world how trust in God can stand.
Alone within a barren valley left to dry,
Yet from your faith arose a nation reaching high.
No shade was near, no water cooled the burning land,
Yet Heaven’s light was always resting in your hands.
***
Alas for generations lost in hollow pride,
Who trade pure hearts for reckless vanity inside.
A father bends with age, a mother’s tears run dry,
While careless sons ignore the pain within her eyes.
Where is the gentle voice? Where is the reverent tone?
The garden now grows thorns and hardened hearts of stone.
***
Where are the sons who listened when their fathers spoke,
Who answered them with tenderness instead of smoke?
Where are the children shaped by honor, grace, and care,
Before rebellion darkened every home with despair?
Would that we carried but a fragment of the way
Of Ishmael’s devotion, bright as dawn’s first ray.
For through such love, the homes of men are healed once more,
And light returns to hearts abandoned long before.
