POETRY

The sky bends low with silver breath,

A hush beneath the hand of death.

The world lies still, a muted stage,

Where winter writes on nature’s page.

The river sleeps with crystal skin,

Yet underneath, the dreams begin.

It murmurs soft in icy veins,

A lullaby through frozen chains.

Snowflakes drift like falling lace,

Each one kissed with silent grace.

They paint the roofs, the trees, the air,

A masterpiece so cold, yet fair.

Water weeps from branches bare,

It clings to leaves no longer there.

It gathers strength in secret streams,

And speaks in frost and quiet dreams.

Winter is a patient guest,

It wraps the world in cold caress.

Its voice is in the sleet and rain,

A song of longing, loss, and gain.

And still the water flows below,

Beneath the ice, a steady glow.

A hidden fire, a quiet might,

That waits for spring to rise in light.

It teaches us, this winter song,

That silence too can still be strong.

That even when the world seems done,

The rivers run, the waters run.

So let the snow fall thick and wide,

Let cold winds wander far and wide.

For deep below, life waits in flow—

Where winter ends, the waters grow.

….

(Translation from ARABIC by Dr. Neide Romani Covre)

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