Author: Mohamed Shaddad

The poem here...
Even if it sometimes wears the silken dress of a woman,
It paints sorrows from behind the departure,
And from behind the absence from the motherland.
It is a song played by the lyre of longing
In the evenings of exile and the pains of memories..
Rather, the woes of the poor,
And the widows, and the bereaved..
It is not an invitation to surrender nor to submission,
Rather, it is a call to rise from the great tragedy.
It is an anticipation of a sunrise that slays the frost,
For warmth and dew to return..
So that flowers may grow in the gardens of life.
Rather, it is an anticipation of hope coming from beyond the veils,
And of the smiles of children.. and orphans.