Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
When Liqiu arrives with its golden brush,
And leaves release their ancient hold,
A whisper passes through the forest hush,
To every heart grown dark and cold:
Why wage a war of shadow and pride,
When all under heaven must drift with the tide?
Look to the wounded lands of the East,
Where Gaza wept in the dust and flame,
Where the Syrian hills and Venezuela’s peace
Were broken in power’s arrogant name.
From the banks of the Euphrates to Persian skies,
How many innocents pay the price?
Put down the iron, the fire, the threat,
And heal the wounds that your hatred made.
Feed the child whom the world forgot,
Comfort the sick in the cold, dark shade.
For justice alone is the bridge we build
If love is to grow and the earth be healed.
Neither color of skin, nor spoken word,
Nor the sacred names that we pray above,
Should divide the soul from the songs it heard—
The single human anthem of love.
If each held the joy of the other near,
No land would hunger, no heart would fear.
Let the autumn of China teach us to yield,
To drop our weapons, to shed our greed,
And sow true peace in every field,
Where every soul has the right to lead.
