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By: Wassef Moukalled  



Page 27 Profile News USA Edition Nov -2010 بروفايل نيوز
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The Rose (Al-Wardah)

I asked the rose the secret of her beauty and she replied, "There have been those who have described me as red wine and those who did not even acknowledge me as beautiful.
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As for my color, spring has borrowed it from the glistening of the sunset, and my scent is the remnants of the breath of beautiful women as their lips have touched my petals.
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My soul is the secret of life itself... I was conceived in the depths of the thorny earth, which embraced me as a mother embraces her only child. I flirted with the breezes of spring as we danced and swayed like two lovers who have long been separated.  I developed as I drank the moist beads of the thorns.  I lost some of my sisters when the devils of humanity undressed them with their glares, and the others died when you thrashed them with your sharp knife to take them to your prison, to satisfy your own selfish needs and to rob us of the warmth of the sun. Don't you know that death is our fate when you separate us from the protection of our natural mother?
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As for the others whose good fortune allowed them to stay in this perfect haven of the good earth like you, my human rose, is our life.
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Every day, dawn calls for us to awaken, but we pretend to be asleep; and she sprinkles our petals with a mist of dew. We rise hungry and we ask, where is our morning nourishment.  The sun hears our call and starts feeding us, ray by ray, on a golden plate.
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This is how our day progresses until we get tired, and then the night comes to darken our eyelids, to prepare our field of dreams, to cover us with a blanket of fog as she orders the moon to watch over us so your eyes and hands would not cut down our souls during the night. And that is how we survive to welcome another day.
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We roses are like you humans; we struggle, we play and enjoy life until we get old, then our children, our petals, start falling off, one after the other.  They break our hearts when some of them are carried away to far distances by the wind. For the others who fall off the bush, I smother them with love, until they fall asleep in their eternal bed. This is why they say, "We were born from a thorn and back to the thorns we will go.
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" Do you understand the secret of my essence my human counterpart? Do you understand that dynamic relationship between roughness and softness, flexibility and resiliency? Do you understand how from foul comes beauty? If you had dealt with me without respecting and understanding me, I would have made you bleed with my sharpness; yet if you had only been satisfied with my scent and beauty, I would have sacrificed myself as a gift on the day of your wedding.”
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After moments, the rose closed her eyes and bowed her head towards the thorns, as a child praying, and then she fell. The thorns cried for her, and nature mourned her death and the leaves brushed against each other, composing music like a violin, and nothing was left but her scent and memories.


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