Spring of Andalusia

The Spring of Andalusia by Mahmoud Maher Those colorful lights went out, and faded behind the curtains of the unfortunate time. All the books of legends grew old, and sank into the darkness of the enchanted pink sea. Its sailor sank, then returned carrying that Andalusian story. It shone and sparkled like a captivating pearl that adorns the faces of the Arabs. Everyone wonders and asks, where are the youth of the night? Where is the supporter of the world? Have their youthful pages truly withered away? Is Andalus, with its sword, in a wooden sheath translated? Our Andalusian memory is pride, and its days of abundant life for every alphabet. No land has died, and its leaders are the supporters of truth and the farmers of goodness. Everyone longs for its gazes, dreams of sitting beneath its shrub branches. All the people of the earth look up to it, contemplating the splendor of its towering castles and its streets decorated with the letters of Islamic justice. Everyone is in awe and amazement, captivated by the sincere, noble jasmine breezes.