Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
Through marble halls where Justice keeps her throne,
A gentle cat walks softly, all alone.
Amid the tomes where wisdom’s voices dwell,
She breathes the hush the printed pages tell.
At Egypt’s grand Book Fair — the noble stage,
Where law and learning meet from age to age —
She roams in grace, through aisles of thought profound,
Her steps like verses — silent, yet sound.
She lifts her gaze to books of truth and right,
As if she reads their souls by lunar light.
With whiskered calm, she turns each page in awe,
As though she ponders justice, word, and law.
One might believe her born of ink and quill,
A scholar’s dream — serene, refined, and still.
Her amber eyes, twin lanterns softly burn,
They weigh the world, yet never seem to yearn.
O little sage of fur and gentle grace,
Thou dost ennoble this enlightened place!
At the Book Fair of the Public Prosecution’s hall,
Thou art the purest reader of them all.
