#The Hymn of Detachment: Song of Silent Pride#

[نورالدين بليغ]

#The Hymn of Detachment: Song of Silent Pride#

I. The Affront of the Disdainful

If something appears, with a haughty forehead raised,

Casting false shadows where your Noble past was praised,

Demolish its command through your Silence severe,

Far from vengeance's cries, far from the low-born war.Humble it through forgetting! Let it be banished,

Like a summer cloud whose downpour has finished.

Tear it from the book where your days are all drawn,

Let it vanish on the barren sands until dawn!

It is not a summit, but a lure in painted dress,

That yields beneath the rain of your serene Yes.

(Your pride is the Sun, that no vain conceit can cease,

And arrogance must fall to Divine release.)

II. Sterility of the Rebellious Heart

If your heart is captive to a soul stubborn and cold,

That anchors itself in the Chill of a story untold,

Offer no more bridges, no more flames of desire,

Towards its icy castles, where echoes expire.Cease this connection! For what light can you await

From a land that offers thorns to defend your state?

Let the fervent cords of your yearning be severed and worn,

Breaking in the essence of your spirit newly born,

So that your hand alone shall be mistress of the day,

Of the moment, the return, or the ultimate way.

(This heart is a Wall where the fountain is dry,

Your plea is a favour, and your honour will die.)

Make your Silence a barrier against its loud claim,

And sow "Isolation" in the garden of your fame.

III. The Eternal Oblivion

If someone denies you, changing like the wind,

Sweeping the past away with a malicious mind,

Grant them no spot in the soul's record kept,

Nor on the margins where deep thoughts have slept.Offer them oblivion that shall never end,

Profound, as if your path they did not transcend.

Let them be an unlit point on your canvas of time,

A birthless shadow, a word never sublime.

(They are but mere Ashes that no interest hold,

A faint voice swallowed by the tumult of the old.)

Be the peaceful Ocean erasing all footprints past,

Not through hatred, but a wave of abandon cast.

Be the treasure of yourself, sufficient and true,

Whom one seeks nowhere else, not even now too.

Epilogue: The Liberty of "No"

This is not Rigour, but the soul's Sculpture fine,

The Art of breaking free from what we let enshrine.

To reclaim your summit, the dignity of the stone,

Which is never disturbed when its foundations have flown.

Freedom begins with that clear, definite "No,"

Hurled at the illusion of an ancient woe.

#NOUR EDDINE BALIGH#