The Angels Carry His Name: Anas Al-Sharif

What truth.
What beauty.
Amid matter’s cruelty,
in the dust of depravity,
you reveal the most noble face of beingness.

I hear the voice of Gibran in the light between your words,
I see Darwish walking beside you
through the metaphysics of yearning—for godliness,
for the boundless radiance
where stars are born and prayers ascend,
to pour like rain
upon the scorched earth of war.

Anas Al-Sharif—you have inscribed pure love into the living code of the world,
and they will never erase it.
Not with fire.
Not with exile.
Not with the slow grind of centuries.

May Allah—and Jibrīl who brings the Word,
and Mīkāl who calls down the rain,
and Isrāfīl who will sound the awakening,
and ʿAzrāʾīl who gathers the souls—and all the angels beyond counting,
ululate your name
until the vault of heaven trembles with it.

And Gaza—where your footsteps are inked into the earth,
where the sea holds your reflection like a kept promise,
where your voice has become the wind’s defiance—Gaza will speak you,
Gaza will breathe you,
Gaza will rise with you,
until freedom itself
answers to your name.