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You are our suns. Our moons our buds of tenderness

Mohammed Makram Balaawi
Delivered at the graduation ceremony for high school students for the year 2009 at the World Islamic Youth Symposium in Dammam


Are the stars in the sky suddenly born like a white cloud?
Do suns sprout in space with day and light
Like a threshing floor of green spikes
A million grains in a spike
Each grain is laden with goodness and growth.
Gardens overflowing with bounty.
Drop by drop from the clouds descending
chasing away the drought from our barren land.
Our country
How do you know what our country is?
Oh, our country.
Our country has turned from the first qiblah
from the destination of Isra'il
from the home of the prophets
It has become hills of salt, ashes and a river of blood.
This is how our country has become in the world of criminality, hypocrisy, discord and discord.
In the world of paid media
and space stations

Your eyes are open windows to our glorious eras.
Your arms are braided with determination.
Your colors are our colors
Your voices are our voices
Your names are our names
Everything in you is ours and from our ancestors.
We are all descendants of the same prophets.
Your heritage is an arsenal of brown arms
honesty of tone
argument
and a flame of fire in the blood.
Do you know it, best sons?
It's manhood.
eloquence
zeal.
This is your inheritance from your forefathers and fathers.

Don't ask who's going to straighten this tilted image.
No problem.
You are the solution to this dilemma.
No matter how long it takes
The solution is to continue the march of redemption
To wash from the face of the Tawhid nation the dye of humiliation and victimization
To end this farce with glory.

Come on, raise your heads.
Spread your palms.
Open your hearts
and swear, O best of sons.
that each one of you is a project of the coming sun.
That each one is a star on the path of the caravan.
that each one is a
a cloud
a drop
a spike
A torrent that will wash away tyranny from our country and wash away the ashes, salts and remains.

So that's how
Stars are born suddenly like a white cloud.
Yes, my best sons.
The suns sprout with day and light.
So then
Green spikes are born
You are our suns.
You are our suns
Our moons
The gardens of giving
Yes.
You are the solution to this dilemma.

Mohammed Makram
9/7/2009

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