Za7ra Sulaiman Poems

Without the winter, we wouldn't appreciate summer,
When blossoms burst forth, a vibrant new drummer.
The chill in the air, the frost on the ground,
Teach us the beauty in warmth that is found.
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I'll always be the barista, giving away every cup,
Ones destined for other hands, ones never meant for mine.
I pour the rich, aromatic brew, my heart held up,
Watching as strangers take a sip, their smiles intertwine.
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What if I get everything I ever want and it's still not enough, the money, the clothes, the house, the career? What if I get it all and it still isn't enough because I don't have you? What if it brings me back to all those years ago when I realized no amount of money or career or tangible things could ever equate to what we had and our puppy dog love and everything we shared and our laughs and our cries and our talk about a future. What if it's never enough, because the future I created no longer has you in it, while I find myself wishing on stars and picking up pennies like they'll grant me some form of redemption. What if I find the man of my dreams and he is everything I'm supposed to want, kind eyes, steady hands, good intentions, and he gets on his knee and the memories barrel through me. What if I realize I don't want the man of my dreams? I just want the man that haunts them
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Do you ever see someone
and think, "Wow, God must hate me, "
'Cause He spent so much time on them
and for me, He got lazy?
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I'm sorry, my love, that I haven't yet healed,
The wounds in my heart still so raw and unsealed.
I wish I could give you the pure, untouched love
That your gentle soul so clearly dreams of.
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They call it delusions, I call it muse,
A spark that ignites the soul's recluse.
A vision that dances before my eyes,
A symphony of thoughts that never dies.
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في حقل عباد الشمس أنا أكرهه أكثر. التاج الذهبي فوق رأسه، وابتسامته الجميلة التي تملأ قلبي بالرهبة. الطريقة التي يعلو فوقي تجعلني أشعر بأنني صغير. أوه، في حقل عباد الشمس، أنا أكرهه أكثر من أي شيء آخر
In a field of sunflowers I hate him the most.
Golden crown atop his head, And his pretty smile that fills my heart with dread.
The way he towers over me,
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I'm a rose kissed by the dawn,
Where petals blushing with the warmth of a thousand sunrises.
Each delicate bloom unfolds like a love letter penned,
A symphony of color that captivates and surprises.
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How can I call you the moon, for even it has scars, The one who gazes at you, how lucky his stars!
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Even if you were dying, I would water you every day,
In hopes that you would survive, no matter what came your way.
Even if your body was covered in thorns, sharp and severe,
I wouldn't think twice before wrapping you in my embrace, my dear.
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