A Frame to Image Pain By Abdel Latif Moubarak, Egyptian poet

Sorrows, deeply sown within the heart,
Awaken seeds of fear,
With dreadful truths concealed and kept apart.
Clad in the garments of a hush, profound,
The day’s afflictions were quietly sown—
A mark upon a grave, a soundless mound,
To man’s slow, unacknowledged moan.
Silence, no portrait of their plight can frame,
Without a stroke, it’s bleak, a stark domain.
Accepted: you’ll depart without a name,
Though in your essence, a vivid dream remains.
Though your heart finds solace in the desert’s hold,
Though your era was destined for your native land,
Accepted: you’ll die, a story left untold,
Like Zia’s fading glory, a disappearing strand.
When such a spirit’s radiant light takes flight,
And vanishes, a beautiful dream’s embrace concludes,
Accepted: you’ll pass into the silent night.
Even houses died, their doorways bent against their moods.
Her streets, they grieved; the night descended, wan,
Leaving behind a body, cherished through the years,
A gleaming star, its melodies now gone,
From the moon, removed in silent, echoing tears.
Rumors whisper of your heart’s final, fading beat,
You sensed it then, and heralded your absence’s plea.
Faces, like dreams, drifted, discrete,
Imprinted on the blood-stained plate of lost identity.
The eye that witnessed leaving, now regrets,
Lost to enigma, devoid of inspiration’s fire—
A frame to image aching, where grief forever sets.