By: Maleksabet Ebrahimi
This house stands bare in autumn’s ruthless breath—
What use to ask the Sheikh of loss and death?
Each withered branch bears torment and despair,
Each budding bloom a burden hard to bear.
Arise! Behold the pillaged, shattered frame—
To dream its rebirth now would seem but vain.
What led us to this wild and storm-tossed land,
Where every gust howls ruin through the sand?
Yet still we smile—beyond this bitter gale,
The chill will pass, and God’s light shall prevail.
A secret truth the whispering winds have brought—
From realms unseen, their calming breath is caught.
With hearts awake, we walk this windswept way,
For distant shines a spark, a hopeful ray.
Now is the time of hush, of silent trust—
Tomorrow’s peace will blossom from this dust.
The frost will fade—when spring returns again,
The world shall bloom with joy, with grass and rain.