On that morning, the noble man comes out of his house, embracing the drum, through which he reminds people of the date of fulfilling the payment of his evening’s price. On thirty Ramadan nights, there was the hour that rings in the ears to remind people of the time of Suhoor, and now the time has come to honor the one whom God has honored with the best and most noble profession.
The youngsters were queuing behind him, shouting with one voice the anthem that Al-Masharati repeat every year at the end of the month of Ramadan. These words soften people’s hearts to be generous with what they have of money or provisions, and that moment of roaming excites the hearts of the youngsters with joy and joy, as the ringing of the drum tastes The flutter of the soul in the body, and where the song of the Masharati is joyful, it stirs the reservoirs of conscience in preparation for the reception of the happy feast, which is the greatest occasion that the young ones await more than other adults; Because on the Eid they will wear new clothes, and on the Eid they will receive the Eid, and on the Eid they will visit the neighbors’ houses and eat sweets, and – meat picks – all of this makes the beats of the Al-Masharati drum awaken feelings that cannot be described other than the feelings of the meeting of the stream with the trees, and the sticking of light In the eyes of childhood and the burning of longing in the heart of a woman in love.
This is how the scene looks, and this is how things become in those days when the magicians had the presence of the poem in the poet’s conscience, and the word was able to convey the wail of childhood, and the wave glides on the chest of the coasts, and the rain fell from the eyes of the cloud, and the toasts developed in cups of joy.
God, how glamorous this creature was, how delicious noise it had, enriching feelings with the power of meaning, and how much it had the inhale of horses kicking the sand raging towards the horizon, painting the picture of life without powder, no fake saffron, and no plastic shrouds, the man was forming The dream of a people at the height of joy, and the hope of young people that the morning of the next day dawns about worshipers calling for your sake, O God, for your sake, and in their eyes the light of joy radiates.
That was a time when beauty was like the tone between rosy lips, chapped with flesh and blood, the more they longed for then the redder they became.
#AlMasharati