Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
Ayla,
What lives between us
is no longer a spark that flickers and fades,
nor a passing glow—
it has become destiny,
flowing in our veins
like dawn within the horizon.
When your hand touched mine,
the world stepped back,
and time bowed in reverence,
as if a sacred covenant
were being written in light.
Ayla—
moonlight choosing a heart to dwell in,
a white flame
that purifies without wounding,
that shines without burning away.
If the moon disappears,
we are its radiance.
If the world falls silent,
we are its voice.
If chapters end,
we are the book that never closes.
We did not choose the fire—
but we became
its light.
