Poem by: Aida Mahmoud
A woman remains an enigma
none may unveil her
save the man who loves her in truth.
The language of her silence
is a lexicon written
in every tongue of earth;
its cipher yields only
to a true man
who knows that behind stillness
storms are gathering,
and behind calm
stories wait untold.
When a woman falls silent,
everything within her speaks:
her memories,
her fears,
her dreams deferred,
her longing that never grows old.
Her silence is no emptiness
but a clamour
filling the courts of stillness.
Manhood is no boast, nor a raised voice;
it is shelter and safety,
and truth without evasion.
A stance, not a word;
a deed, not a promise.
And the true woman
is a rebellious filly without a rider
untamed, unbroken;
she seeks not chains
but understanding:
one who guards her pride,
who honours her fragility
as he honours her strength.
“Be to me a homeland
that holds my silence, my despair, my madness
or depart forever.”
For you are not here,
nor am I there.
I returned astray,
my footsteps tearing me apart;
lost between the pages of my writings,
scattered through corridors
haunted by the cruelty of endings.
Night bears me
into dimming shadows,
and there I find you
a mirage trembling afar,
a glow that lures me
toward an unknown love.
Would that we did not depart
Would that we did not toll
the bells of farewell
before exhausting
every attempt to remain.
I found my heart
the remnant of a lyre,
its strings undone,
awaiting a hand
to awaken its song
not one that toys
with what is left.
Each day longing leads me
to the brink of a ruby river;
I gaze into its waters
and see my features bound without chains
captive to fears of my own design,
yet free
when I face my truth.
Hold me forever,
or leave forever;
my heart is no longer
a house for the departing,
nor a station
for passing souls.
I am a road bewildered
between meanings of travel,
a daisy astray
on its way to rain,
a star drifting in heaven
knowing her light
is borrowed from none.
I am a woman
no failure can reduce,
no loss define,
no farewell end.
A woman who knows
that love is not weakness
but a conscious choice,
and dignity not harshness
but the soul’s protection.
If I love, I love in truth;
if I leave, I leave in pride.
For I am a woman
whose love equals
the passion of a thousand women
and it is enough
to be true to her heart,
though the whole world
betray her.
Translated from Arabic by: Silta Magazine Team