كانت
January 15, 2026
|By Reham Hashem
كانت
Acrylic • 30x40 cm • 2026
.كانت المرأةُ قديمًا تشبهُ هذه الدارَ الصامتة؛ لا تتكلّم كثيرًا، لكن كلَّ حجرٍ فيها يحفظُ حكاية. نوافذُها العالية عيونٌ لا تُرى، تراقبُ العالم دون أن تغادر مكانها، وتخبّئُ في عمقها أحلامًا مؤجَّلة كضوءٍ محبوس
.بابُها المغلقُ ليس صدًّا، بل اختبارُ صبر؛ لا يُفتح إلا لمن يعرفُ قيمة الداخل. أمّا الجدرانُ المتراكبة، فهي أعوامٌ من الاحتمال، لونٌ فوق لون، جرحٌ يعلوه صمتٌ جميل. كلُّ شقٍّ فيها ذكرى، وكلُّ ظلٍّ صلاة
.وعندما يمرُّ الزمنُ من حولها، يبقى البيتُ واقفًا، كما بقيت المرأة: رمزًا للحفظ، لا للغياب؛ للثبات، لا للجمود. فإذا تهاوت الأزمنة، ظلّت هي الدليلَ على أن ما يُبنى بالروح لا يسقط، وإن شاخ الحجر
She was...
She once resembled this silent house; she did not speak much, yet every stone within her held a story. Her high windows were unseen eyes, watching the world without ever leaving their place, concealing within their depths dreams postponed like imprisoned light.
Her closed door was not rejection, but a test of patience; it opened only to those who knew the value of what lay inside. As for the layered walls, they were years of endurance color upon color, a wound covered by a graceful silence. Every crack was a memory, every shadow a prayer.
And as time passed around her, the house remained standing, just as she did: a symbol of preservation, not absence; of steadfastness, not rigidity. If eras were to crumble, she would remain the proof that what is built with the soul does not fall, even when stone grows old.
She once resembled this silent house; she did not speak much, yet every stone within her held a story. Her high windows were unseen eyes, watching the world without ever leaving their place, concealing within their depths dreams postponed like imprisoned light.
Her closed door was not rejection, but a test of patience; it opened only to those who knew the value of what lay inside. As for the layered walls, they were years of endurance color upon color, a wound covered by a graceful silence. Every crack was a memory, every shadow a prayer.
And as time passed around her, the house remained standing, just as she did: a symbol of preservation, not absence; of steadfastness, not rigidity. If eras were to crumble, she would remain the proof that what is built with the soul does not fall, even when stone grows old.