Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
You departed… yet how can the soul forget
The echo of your gentle voice upon the stage?
How can the screens erase a passing shadow
That lit our nights like a radiant moon?
O Ece, a Turkish rose in bloom,
Whose fragrance reached both near and far,
Between Istanbul and the Nile remains a story
Written in the hearts of those who loved you.
We saw in every role a living heartbeat,
A dream embodied in each scene.
When you smiled, homes seemed brighter;
When you wept, hearts shared your sorrow.
And in “Cranberry Sherbet,” you became a tale
Cherished by audiences young and old.
The character of Işıl was never merely a role,
But the pulse of a woman facing life’s storms.
Your art was never confined by borders;
It crossed seas and reached the Arab world.
In Egypt, the Levant, and the Gulf,
Your image found a home in countless hearts.
Eyes followed your performances,
Souls listened to the warmth of your voice.
You became a bridge between two peoples,
United by their love of beautiful art.
O you who painted joy upon faces
And planted hope in barren lands,
How could you leave so swiftly,
Before the eyes had enough of your light?
Yet you remain in songs and scenes,
And in every memory touched by affection.
Still, the voice of grief softly whispers:
“Here passed a beloved artist.”
You are gone, yet art itself bears witness
That beauty neither dies nor disappears.
Though the earth may embrace great talents,
Their echoes endure through time.
Peace upon your gentle soul,
And peace upon the legacy you leave behind.
You vanished from our sight, dear Ece,
Yet within our hearts, your star still shines. 🕊️💔
