And so, To the soul of my heart, my dearest beautiful and loyal one— The delicate femininity, the radiant adornment— Umayma, to you I write. Not because words can contain my heart, But because this heart can no longer bear such love in silence. O flower that bloomed in the garden of my soul, You—whose voice soothes my chaos, Whose laughter causes hope to rise from the ashes of my days. Each time I look at you, I feel that life is good again— That in this world, there is still something worth staying for. You are a homeland the soul never leaves, Even if the body drifts far in exile. These are my confessions, then: I, Sayf, am neither that devout youth Nor that reckless wanderer— Nor any of them. I am simply myself. When we fall in love, Madness strikes us from all directions— And beyond. Our every moment turns into a thrilling saga, A national epic through which we charge The enemy’s front lines with unshaken zeal. That same fervent, patriotic spirit That makes battle a noble meaning, A grand symbol we’d give our blood to defend. So too is love. So too is the beloved. If her heart is not a homeland— Then there is nothing worth fighting for.