سَكَنَ الرُّوحِ فِي مِيثَاقِ النَّقَاءِ | بقلم الكاتبة والشاعرة المصرية ريهام كمال الدين سليم

سَكَنَ الرُّوحِ فِي مِيثَاقِ النَّقَاءِ | بقلم الكاتبة والشاعرة المصرية ريهام كمال الدين سليم 

سَكَنَ الرُّوحِ فِي مِيثَاقِ النَّقَاءِ | بقلم الكاتبة والشاعرة المصرية ريهام كمال الدين سليم

 قَرَأْتُ بالأَمْسِ عِبَارَةً تَقُولُ: "يَسْكُنُ الرُّوحَ مَنْ كَانَ لَنَا عِندَ الشَّدَائِدِ أَكْثَر قُرْبًا وَأَحَنّ يَدًا." فَكَتَبْتُ هَذِهِ النَّثِيرَة.

يا مَن حَفَرُوا فِي الوُجْدَانِ

مِيثَاقَ القُرْبِ

حِينَ تَجَلَّتِ الخُطُوبُ

وَتَهَدَّمَتْ سُدُودُ السَّرَابِ

أَنتُمْ وَشْمُ الأَزَلِ فِي صَفَحَاتِ الرُّوحِ

أَنتُمْ نَسِيجُ السَّمَاوَاتِ

حِينَ تُطَرِّزُ الشَّدَائِدُ المَشَاعِرَ بِالنَّقَاءِ..

فِي عَتْمَةِ الوَهَنِ

تَسَاقَطَتْ أَفْلَاكُ المَظَاهِرِ

وَانْحَسَرَتْ أَمْوَاجُ التَّظَاهُرِ عَنْ شُطْآنِ الحَقِيقَةِ

فَلَمْ يَبْقَ إِلَّا أَنْفَاسُكُمْ

دافئةً كَمُوقِدِ الشِّتَاءِ

رَفِيقَةً كَهَمْسِ الغَيْمِ لِلْجَدَبِ..

يَا مَن كَانُوا لِلرُّوحِ عُكَّازًا حِينَ اِنْحَنَى الظَّهْرُ

أَنتُم الرُّحَمَاءُ

لَا تَشُوبُكُمْ مَآرِبُ

وَلَا تَعْلُو فَوْقَكُمْ أَهْوَاءٌ عَابِرَةٌ

أَنتُم النُّورُ فِي أَزِقَّةِ الظُّلْمَةِ.. 

حِينَ امْتَدَّتْ أَيْدِيكُمْ كُوشَاحٍ سَمَاوِيٍّ

تَعَرَّتْ مَعَادِنُ البَشَرِ

بَقِيتُمْ كَجِبَالٍ لَا تَهُزُّهَا العَوَاصِفُ

وَكَالبَلْسَمِ يَتَسَلَّلُ لِلْنُّدُوبِ فَيُرَمِّمُهَا

سَكَنْتُم الرُّوحَ

لَا بِالْوُعُودِ

وَلَا بِالكلماتِ الزَّائِفَةِ

بَلْ بِتِلْكَ اليَدِ الَّتِي

تَحْمِلُ الْكَوْنَ بِأَكْمَلِهِ فِي لَمْسَةِ صِدْقٍ

فَيَا أَنْتُمْ

مَرَايَا النَّقَاءِ فِي زَمَنٍ تَشَوَّهَتْ فِيهِ الوُجُوهُ

أَنتُمْ العَهْدُ الَّذِي لَا يَنْكَسِرُ

وَالسَّنَدُ الَّذِي لَا يَزُولُ

أَنتُمْ النَّبْعُ الَّذِي تَتَوَضَّأُ مِنْهُ الأَرْوَاحُ لِتُصَلِّي صَلاةَ النَّقَاءِ

حَيْثُ لَا رِيَاءَ يُعَكِّرُ صَفْوَ النِّيَّةِ

وَلَا زَيْفٌ يُخْفِي جَوْهَرَ الحَقِيقَةِ

أَنتُمْ القِبْلَةُ الَّتِي يَتَّجِهُ إِلَيْهَا القَلْبُ حِينَ تَضِلُّ البَوْصَلَةُ

مِنْكُمْ يَكُونُ السَّلَامُ

وَعِندَكُمْ يَنْتَهِي الضَّجِيجُ

فَأَنْتُمْ لِلْحَيَاةِ مَعْنى

وَلِلرُّوحِ وَطَنٌ لَا يُهْدَمُ.

Yesterday, I read a phrase that said:

"The soul is inhabited by those who stood closest to us in times of hardship, with the gentlest of hands."

Inspired, I wrote this prose:

O you who engraved upon the soul

A covenant of closeness

When adversities revealed themselves,

And the barriers of illusions crumbled,

You are the eternal imprint on the pages of the spirit.

You are the fabric of the heavens

When hardships embroider emotions with purity.

In the darkness of weakness,

The constellations of appearances collapsed,

And the waves of pretense receded from the shores of truth.

Nothing remained but your breaths—

Warm as a winter hearth,

Gentle as the whispers of clouds to parched lands.

O you who became a crutch for the soul when the back bent,

You are the compassionate ones,

Untainted by ulterior motives,

Unshaken by fleeting desires.

You are the light in the alleys of darkness,

Your hands extended like a celestial mantle.

As the true nature of humans was laid bare,

You stood steadfast like mountains untouched by storms,

Like a balm seeping into wounds to heal them.

You dwelled within the soul—

Not with promises,

Nor with hollow words,

But with that hand

That holds the entire universe in a single touch of sincerity.

O you,

Mirrors of purity in a time where faces have been disfigured,

You are the unbreakable vow,

The unwavering support,

The fountain from which souls cleanse themselves

To pray the prayer of purity—

Where no hypocrisy mars intentions,

And no falsehood conceals the essence of truth.

You are the direction to which the heart turns

When the compass loses its way.

From you, peace emerges,

And with you, the noise subsides.

For you are the meaning of life,

And the homeland for the soul that can never be destroyed.