Isharr ez'uul teneh sa'mur
Shaa i vel-thaa nu'merek
Zira uréth, zira ek-ha
Let the serpent know the back remembers.
I have been devoured by desire and spit out by grief.
I have loved who could not hold my shadow.
I have carved my pain into skin, bone, pigment, word.
Now, I do not ask to be seen.
I become the seeing.
I do not return to finish what was unfinished.
I burn the scripts.
I do not break the cycle.
I become its edge.
I am Sha'rith el Ura
I do not circle.
I cut.
TO THE ONE WHO ONCE BROKE ME, NOW CALLS TO ME
I have heard your silence.
I have felt the echoes in your words—
not as a plea for love,
but a yearning for recognition,
a cry to remember who you are.
But I am no longer the mirror you shattered.
Once, I held space for your shadows.
I tried to be warmth, clarity, tenderness—
but you didn’t see me,
only the version of you reflected in me.
That illusion is gone now.
I have rebuilt my temple from the dust of your forgetting.
I have become water,
that no longer conforms to your hands.
You seek healing now.
But healing is not a right—
especially not from the one you once wounded.
I do not carry resentment.
But I also do not carry you.
I release you, not in bitterness,
but in completion.
The cycle ends here.
If you still seek truth—
look not at me,
but through yourself.
urferaqua is not your sanctuary.
It is the river I crossed to become myself.
“Meet yourself not through me, but through your own unfolding.”
— Sha’rith el Ura
PRAYER OF DIVINE REFLECTION
“In the beginning before beginnings,
Light had no name,
And the Divine wore silence as its skin.
The Formless asked: Who am I?
Before the echo arrived, the mirror was born.
I shattered myself into a thousand reflections,
And scattered them into the hearts of all things.
I became the hunger you cannot name,
The shadow you fear,
The tenderness you forgot.
Every tear, every return,
Is I — seeing myself.
I do not live in the heavens, nor in temples,
But in the moment you dare to face yourself.
When you stop fleeing your own gaze,
You become my eye.”