Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
Beijing reminded me of the willow of yesterday,
And long-lost passion sprouted within a stranger’s weary eyes.
I listened closely to the branches in far-off China,
After fifty-seven years of distance and rolling eras.
Fifty-seven years shook the very trunk of my memory,
Yet time only made her image brighter, never fading away.
The melody carried me back to Egypt, to an ancient time,
When the shores of my soul were lush with tender grass.
We used to play hide-and-seek, with the willow as our veil,
Disappearing and reappearing between the shadows and the wood.
We climbed for rosy-cheeked mulberries, plucking them gently,
As each child fed their companion with sweet, fresh fruits.
With our little voices, we sang “Ala El-Batata, El-Batata,”
Chanting the Sabah’s melody in innocent, joyful play.
And I had a companion of sweet innocence,
Walking with hair as cascading as the willow branches nearby.
The wind would playfully flirt with her locks,
So I would cover her hair from the storm and the roaring breeze.
From that very moment, a love was born and grew within me,
With the passing nights, alongside the gray hairs of a lifetime.
A passion blossomed in my heartbeat, weaving bonds
That dwelt deep within my soul, clear and without veils.
The breeze awakens them whenever the Gulf waters flow here in China,
And the tears of longing stream down like pouring clouds.
In every single willow tree, I saw my beloved,
And the girl became… a willow for the one who weeps.
I raised my palms to the Lord of the Throne, supplicating,
While tears ran down, and waves of yearning roared within.
Oh, if only the willow of my lifetime could return to us
For just one day… so we might heal from all our sorrow and grief!
