Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
The one whose heart beats for the people,
his cup is always full, always open.
Our Governor, son of the people,
your kindness cannot be measured.
In the market, walking humbly,
he saw a mother calling, broken,
her eyes heavy with hunger:
“I dream of a piece of meat,
my children are starving,
and my heart is crushed.”
He did not turn away, nor excuse with “times are hard.”
Instead, he reached out, and said with words of honor:
🔸 “I’ll pay from my own pocket—
and by God, this is no favor.”
The butcher heard, the people saw,
and in that instant, her tears fell in prayer.
O Saber… gentle, kind, and true,
tomorrow you’ll be written in the chronicles of men.
From your office you never strayed,
nor from your people did you ever part.
This was not the first, nor a tale alone—
whoever knows you testifies to the feeling.
From your first steps as a bright deputy,
your goodness came before you, always present.
Through alleys and squares you walk,
beloved by the young and the old.
You listen, respond, and ease the sigh,
planting peace and content in every heart.
O Saber… face of joy,
the people swear by your faithful wings—
a butterfly that gathers wounds,
healing them with gentle balm.
In your hands, hope is rebuilt,
your presence lights every path.
Our Governor, with a merciful chest,
you lift from us sorrow and grief.
For this is no office, but a lifetime’s mission,
and you are its bearer, in every test.
Your wallet is open to goodness,
your heart forever shining with endless light.
