حين يتحوّل العيد إلى وجعٍ صامت بقلم الأديب محمود طه

✒️🐎 حين يتحوّل العيد إلى وجعٍ صامت✒️🐎

مِمَّا لا شَكَّ فِيهِ أَنَّ عِيدَ الأُمِّ لَيْسَ مُجَرَّدَ يَوْمٍ لِلِاحْتِفَالِ، بَلْ هُوَ شُعُورٌ عَمِيقٌ بِقِيمَتِهَا فِي حَيَاتِنَا، وَبِمَا تَحَمَّلَتْهُ مِنْ تَعَبٍ وَعَطَاءٍ مِنْ أَجْلِنَا.

وَلَا يَنْبَغِي أَنْ نَغْفُلَ عَنْ إِخْوَانٍ لَنَا يَفْتَقِدُونَ هَذَا الْحُضْنَ؛ أُولَئِكَ الَّذِينَ يَزُورُونَ أُمَّهَاتِهِمْ فِي الْمَقَابِرِ بَدَلًا مِنَ الْبُيُوتِ، وَيَحْمِلُونَ فِي قُلُوبِهِمْ شَوْقًا لَا يَخْفُتُ.

لِذَلِكَ، لَسْتُ مِمَّنْ يُؤَيِّدُونَ الاِحْتِفَالَ بِهَذَا الْيَوْمِ؛ لَا انْتِقَاصًا مِنْ قَدْرِ الأُمِّ، بَلْ مُرَاعَاةً لِمَشَاعِرِ مَنْ فَقَدُوهَا. فَلَيْسَ كُلُّ الْقُلُوبِ تَحْتَفِلُ، وَبَعْضُهَا يَتَأَلَّمُ فِي صَمْتٍ.

إِنَّ تَخْصِيصَ يَوْمٍ وَاحِدٍ لِلأُمِّ لَا يُنْصِفُهَا؛ فَحَقُّهَا أَكْبَرُ مِنْ أَنْ يُحْصَرَ فِي وَقْتٍ. هِيَ السَّنَدُ وَالْمَلَاذُ، وَبِهَا يَسْتَقِيمُ طَرِيقُنَا.

الأُمُّ ظِلٌّ نَحْتَمِي بِهِ، وَنُورٌ يُضِيءُ دُرُوبَنَا. وَبِفَقْدِهَا يَخْفُتُ شَيْءٌ فِي دَاخِلِنَا، فَنَبْقَى أَحْيَاءً فِي الظَّاهِرِ، وَمُثْقَلِينَ بِالْفِرَاغِ فِي الدَّاخِلِ. وَذَلِكَ مِنْ سُنَّةِ اللَّهِ فِي الْفِرَاقِ.

فَكُونُوا جَابِرِينَ لِلْخَوَاطِرِ، وَلَا تُثْقِلُوا قُلُوبَ الْمُفْتَقِدِينَ. كَلِمَةٌ طَيِّبَةٌ قَدْ تُخَفِّفُ أَلَمًا، وَأُخْرَى قَدْ تَزِيدُهُ.

شَارِكُوا غَيْرَكُمْ مَشَاعِرَهُمْ، وَلَا تَجْعَلُوا الْفَرْحَ سَبَبًا فِي جُرْحِ أَحَدٍ. فَجَبْرُ الْخَوَاطِرِ مِنْ أَجْمَلِ الْعِبَادَاتِ، وَأَقْرَبِهَا إِلَى الْقُلُوبِ.

وَفِي الْخِتَامِ، كُنْ نُورًا لِغَيْرِكَ، وَبَلْسَمًا لِمَنْ تَأَلَّمَ. فَالدُّنْيَا تَقُومُ عَلَى رِقَّةِ الْكَلِمَاتِ، وَصِدْقِ الْمَشَاعِرِ.

📖✒️🐎 بقلم الأديب: محمود طه

✒️🐎 When the Feast Turns into Silent Pain ✒️🐎

There is no doubt that Mother’s Day is not merely a day for celebration, but rather a deep feeling of appreciation for her value in our lives, and for all the effort and sacrifices she has made for us.

We must not overlook those among us who have lost this embrace; those who visit their mothers in graves instead of homes, carrying in their hearts an unending longing that never fades.

Therefore, I am not among those who support celebrating this day—not out of any lack of appreciation for the mother, but out of consideration for the feelings of those who have lost her. Not all hearts celebrate; some ache in silence.

Dedicating a single day to the mother does not do her justice; her right is far greater than being confined to a moment in time. She is the support and refuge, and through her, our path remains straight.

A mother is a shadow under which we seek shelter, and a light that illuminates our paths. With her loss, something within us dims; we remain outwardly alive, yet internally burdened by emptiness. And this is part of God’s decree in separation.

So be those who mend hearts, and do not burden the hearts of those who are grieving. A kind word may ease a pain, while another may deepen it.

Share the feelings of others, and do not let joy become a cause of someone’s hurt. For mending hearts is among the most beautiful acts of goodness, and the closest to the heart.

In conclusion, be a light to others, and a balm to those who are in pain. For life is built upon the gentleness of words and the sincerity of feelings.

📖✒️🐎 By the writer: Mahmoud Taha