Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
Upon their pages, ink still gently flows,
Then sudden silence strikes with terrifying blows!
In “Shajarat-at-Tayyibah,” dreams fell asleep,
As quake and fire through the classroom creep.
One hundred sixty-eight bright smiles erased,
By brutal oppression, utterly effaced.
Scattered notebooks across the courtyard lie,
And those who brought light are gone from the eye.
Here lies a bag… and here a broken pen,
And a dream that promised to blossom then.
Here rubble cradles a little girl’s frame,
While her severed earring weeps for the flame!
And braids in the mud cry out for their dream,
For lost youth, while silence ignites a fierce stream!
In silence she calls for her loved ones in vain,
As her voice is choked by a torrent of pain!
Above the debris, a wail rises high,
Lamenting time’s betrayal under the sky!
Complaining of ego and hostile elite,
Where self-absorbed arrogance rules on the street!
She calls every free soul to rise and take stand,
To shatter the tyranny sweeping the land!
Minab’s call to the noble rings clear:
Break the hegemony, cast out the fear!
For when dominant powers oppress and command,
Others will suffer across every land!
For this wound is not measured by days in sight,
Nor a single month trapped in a siege’s plight!
Forty-seven heavy years have taken their toll,
While fires between neighbors and kinsmen roll!
Has the lust for slaughter not yet had its fill?
Or can starvation quench destruction at will?!
Minab has turned into a wound that never sleeps,
A curse through the ages that eternity keeps.
