By: Manal Rabiey
I taught myself to set like the sun whenever my heart grows heavy with noise, to disappear as the sun disappears into the embrace of the horizon — not as an escape, nor in despair, but as a preparation for a new birth. With every sunset I learn to strip away the shadows that weigh me down, to remove from my soul the cloak of ashes and leave it hanging on the edge of the wind until I return pure as a drop of dew. I extinguish my pains one after the other as lamps are put out at the end of the night, and I leave a space for stillness to grow inside me like a wild flower. And when the time for sunrise comes, I choose the place that longs for my heart’s light, the space that opens its chest to me without fear. In it I sow my blood, my dreams and my secret song; I plant my steps, my words and my true face.
I rise not to dazzle eyes, but to reshape my soul in the features of light, to be for myself first and then for the world. I rise to embrace the faces that truly love me and to illuminate their dim paths. With every sunset I discover that I am not incomplete but fulfilled by absence, and that the light I keep in my depths does not vanish but multiplies, begetting itself in the silence of the night like small stars that bless me. There, at the edge of the sunset, I embrace my shadow and tell it: “Be patient, the dawn is ours.” And there, at the first ray, I swear to be my own sun, to shine where I wish, when I wish, and in the measure my soul deserves; to make every sunrise a small feast I celebrate with myself, writing upon the horizon a new covenant to remain light no matter how the seasons change.
