Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
She is not convinced by mere wetness, but she is enchanted by drowning!
What if I told you that within me, a voice screams, saying: “Don’t let her go!” And what if I told you that I don’t know how to let this voice out without shattering my pride? Does your heart read the letters I write but never send to you?
Do you know? The one who loves you most is often the farthest from you.
Oh, you who seek love, know that love should only be sought beneath the rain! And I know—you are not convinced by mere wetness. All these raindrops that have scattered over your tender body—haven’t they washed you yet?
Oh rain, you who wipe away the dryness of the years, who quench the earth and the trees, who give drink to the thirsty! Love is like you; some do not long for its beginning nor its torment.
Oh rain, have mercy on those whom wetness does not satisfy!
O tall one, I will stand beneath the rain to console you until you come to me convinced that the rain has washed you. Shall we enter? Has wetness still not appealed to you?
Is all this melancholy foreign to you, despite the joy that raindrops create as they fall? They summon all memories and bring forth tears of nostalgia—a symphony played on a moonlit night.
Rain is a need for souls wandering on their path to purity, to life, to joy, to happiness.
Have all these droplets that danced on your body and awakened your skin not been enough? Or do you still crave more?
Has it not patted your heart and granted you a sip of its elixir, giving your body new strength after all your inner burns?
Where will the journey take you, O graceful one?
On a night wrapped in intense cold, the rain fell upon the edge of my window, completing winter’s appetite. And as it touched my cheeks, life was revealed.
Can there be rain without clouds?
When the rain stops, we forget the umbrella. But how can I wait for the rain if I haven’t planted the grains?
The last rain is like the first tear—it chokes us with silence and sorrow.
The rain falls, washing away the grudges of hearts and the darkness within souls.
Rain awakens in us a nostalgia and longing for days that have passed and will never return.
When the rain falls, I feel an indescribable urge to cry.
After the storm comes the rain, and after heavy clouds, the sun rises again.
The town wears the rain as a widow wears mourning.
The sea is the first source of inspiration, and rain is drops of revelation.
Cherish the friends who love walking in the rain—do not let them go.
Come, let’s watch the rain in silence and whisper our prayers—perhaps they will be answered!
Rain is life, it is joy, it is a little girl running in her pink embroidered dress.
It is not the fault of the rain that the soil turned to mud instead of becoming a forest.
Without you, have these raindrops and their melodies on the lovers’ windows still not convinced you?
There is no use in sheltering under an umbrella of words—for silence before the rain is the most beautiful thing.
I won’t carry an umbrella; I will stand beneath the rain until you come. Then we shall enter the café together.
I miss the sound of rain knocking on my window, spreading happiness throughout my kingdom, while you are enchanted by drowning!
It is not the pure hearts that avoid the rain but those who carry umbrellas.
The city is not so bad, for when it bathes in the rain, it becomes delightful.
I long for a homeland that embraces me.
Rain only falls like a kiss on a child’s cheek in the midst of its downpour.
Oh rain, if it were not for the collision of clouds, you would not fall and gladden hearts.
And if minds did not collide, thought would not ignite, and truths would remain hidden.
Waiting for you is like waiting for rain on hot summer days when the sun refuses to leave.
Even after your departure, your gifts still pour down upon me like generous raindrops!
If only you knew how much I love the shy winter sun and the bright stars that adorn my inner sky despite the darkness of the winter night!
Those who wait for the rain to fall are those who cherish freedom, who seek inner peace, and who reject provocation. They long for the rain, not the thunder.
I did not cry, but I am waiting for you and for my loved ones, the friends who disappear from my sight like car lights fading under the rain.
With every touch of the rain on my small city’s cheeks, I smell the fragrance of your beautiful perfume.
I love the scent of rain, the cold breeze that dances with the tree branches, and the gentle waves that slip through the sea’s fingers.
I wonder—do these raindrops resemble your delicate words?
And will the wind carry to your simple, green life the joy of the rain, or do you still long for drowning?
By: Ahmed Al-Qaisi
