٣ آب اللهاب ٩١ هجريا

 ٣ آب اللهاب ٩١ هجريا 

بعد فتح الأندلس بعدة شهور

Written by: Fatma Ragab Azzam

A mad poet swims in a deep sea of mirage. The sun quenches the thirst of the road, watering it with the tears of those who longed for someone they missed, and with the burdens of those who traveled. The road carves his name into the heels of those who walk upon it.

My howdah passes by, and from my pearl-studded pavilion, I see him struggling against the waves of illusion. So I lower my black shawl, embroidered with moons and stars, toward him.

He sees it and comes closer. 

He shakes the golden dust from his body, as though he has just emerged from beneath the ruins of a sand mountain that collapsed upon him alone. The dust he shakes away swirls around him, forming a storm that sweeps away everything that could come between us.

The scene becomes clear.

A cool breeze rises, carrying the scent of musk, sandalwood, and orange blossom. He takes hold of the shawl, and the caravan follows his path.

With every step we take along the road, it scatters flowers unlike any flowers found on this earth—

so that people may know

that two souls who were true to each other once passed this way.

فاطمة رجب عزام