| Message | Holy Birth: The Era of the Rose
Fourteen centuries ago, there was a night such as this night… An orphan, [beautiful] like the full moon, emerged from the sand.
It was spring... Outside on the sand, swallowing both sorrow and poison for the sake of pleasure, were people… Mankind was a monster in the hands of crazed fierceness. And on the rusty mirrors of time, worn-out hearts were as big as rocks...
It was spring... Inside, on the lap of Amine, was the scent of a rose bathed with divine light... The Beloved, expected for how many thousands of years, was apparently that One. Those were the ages, the ages that time marked with borders was trickling happiness. The night was lingering into dawn, and the smile on the lips of Amine saying, "My rose!" was revealed time after time.
The beloved became a "Rose" that night and for mankind, "rose" has not been a common noun since that day.
Come, O Rose of unity, Rose of longing... Come with your scent and come with your color!... Come with your inspiration and your harmony!... If not with your passion, come with your love!...
Come and let the hearts glide towards flowers free as birds, and let the flowers be overcome by butterflies scattering their love... Come and let infants read your letters written in mysterious alphabets; come, let fingers adorned with henna weave your poems on their looms verse by verse... |