Sing With Me ( با من بخوان )

Open your loosened arms
so they may press
my longings to their chest,
and lay the bitter draught of failure
from the root of my soul
into the soil of forgetting.

If only I could
clutch the latch of the old house
tight in my fist,
entrust my gaze
to eyes still waiting,
eyes that once
met me at the wooden window.

You are the one
who does not turn time back,
the one who,
night after night,
in dreams,
calls me
toward the brightness of tomorrow.

A clear, rain-born song
that settles a smile upon the face;
like the glorious rising of the sun
from behind the veil of clouds,
covering sorrow.

Sing with me
of those seasons
when the fall of grief
sketched your absence
upon the white page.

Sing with me,
for your words
are faith in living;
in a nowhere land
where the monster of death
roars,
and love,
in the house of the heart,
is torn
by a drawn blade.

A wondrous sense of calm
that does not fade
amid the clamor of rage and blood,
and each time
lets a song grow within me,
bitter to the taste.

Sing with me,
resonant and unafraid,
O all of
my flesh and soul.

My mother,
my homeland

Arsalan – Wiesbaden
January 29, 2026