Daybreak ( شبگیر )

by Arsalan – Wiesbaden, September 18, 2025

The dread of dawn,

the long delay of morning’s rise,

as if upon the ancient summit of the city

a hunter sat,

lying in wait for the caravan of darkness.

Even the bowl of the day’s patience

overflowed

with the foul persistence of night.

A storm, relentless,

rises from sudden disaster,

wrestles with the very fibers of longing.

No solace,

yet strength and endurance

it awakens,

as hard as rock,

washed in the molten fire

of the volcano.

Pain—

the endless repetition of the same,

when the heart,

a grenade unpinned in the fist,

to a tomorrow without outcome

fastens its last hope.

Should the night,

in its cunning gloom, remain,

it casts the shadow of ruin

upon the steadfast soul,

and the countless rain of calamities

it reads

as signs of fate.

It is a stony path,

not easy,

that shattered reckless haste.

Before the barred gate of day

still sits

the dawn’s first hour,

with burden on its back

and heart in its hand,

awaiting the coming of the light.