In The Almond Forest Poem by Mohammad Yousef

I was running in the almond forest,
where sunlight danced through branches,
and the earth whispered secrets to my feet.
When he said about me, mother,
that I am beautiful,
a tender truth woven in the air,
like the scent of blossoms,
delicate yet undeniable.

A rose button dozed on my forehead,
its petals soft against my skin,
while my shirt,
a fabric of stories untold,
slipped from its buttonhole—
an escape,
a flutter of freedom.
He said,
what he said,
the shirt is hell
above my chest,
an inferno igniting every breath,
and the dress drips with ecstasy,
a cascade of colors,
a river of desire.

He spoke,
my smile is a mulberry leaf,
sweet,
succulent under the sun's gaze,
and my chest,
a treasure chest,
holding secrets of the universe,
stories wrapped in soft skin,
and he told me tales of my breasts,
streams of wine and coffee,
nectar and light,
jugs overflowing with the essence of life.

Am I beautiful?
Awakening a female spirit in my veins,
splitting a hole for the light to pour in,
gilded shadows dancing along my skin.
In his voice, a soft decision,
a promise wrapped in velvet,
and in his eyes,
the gleam of prophecy,
like stars unbidden,
guiding lost souls home.

A free forehead, unburdened by doubt,
spreading light like dawn over the horizon,
and a mouth,
oh, the mouth—
pride and cruelty intertwining,
forcing the kiss by force,
and I am satisfied,
a paradox of hunger and surrender,
beauty in the grasp of passion,
the eyelids turning away from it,
modesty cloaked in the allure of the chase.

And the modesty of women,
for love, leave it,
for love is a wild thing,
untamed, unchained,
my eyes, shy,
curtains fluttering in the breeze,
and my purity,
a soft bloom asking
about its fragrance,
as if purity has a desire,
a longing,
a wish to be known,
to be seen,
beneath the almond trees,
where beauty blossoms
and runs free.