The River Of Silent Gold Poem by Yousif Ibrahim Abubaker Abdalla
The River Of Silent Gold
The velvet skies were never just night. They were ancient havens of quiet, where silver haired storytellers spun their wisdom into the hearts of eager listeners, gathered around fires flickering like weary prophets. Meanwhile, the desert stood still, as if eternity itself had paused to listen.
The sun baked giant was never truly destitute. No, it was rich, like the earth before the rain, rich like hidden gold resting beneath scarred soil, rich like a sacred drum whose heartbeat waits in silence for the right hands to awaken it.
The sun baked giant was not weak. It was a titan draped in dust and sunlight, bearing the heavy burden of the sky on weary shoulders, while the world mistook its strength for fragility.
What a cruel twist of fate for even cracked earth continued to nourish hope for its people, like bread shared among the hungry. And even in times of want, songs still rose from the ashes of empty bowls.
And dawn, dawn was never just morning. It was molten gold spilling over the scarred horizon, a divine hand painting light upon fractured land, a sacred reminder that even broken soil can bloom like miracles emerging from sorrow.
For the land that cradled the sun did not fade beneath the dust. It endured like a lion resting beneath the stars, like a whisper that survives the storm, like a flame that refuses to bow before the wind.
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6/5/2026 3:01:08 AM # 1.0.0
