مات المطر , كيف عاشت اشعاره
والنو نعشه , وصعوده كان محدارههو النجوم اللي ماينتهي لها سيره
هو البحر اللي من غيمه ترفد انهاره
يا الجنة الخضراء متى تشرق على حيك
الليل ابطى , وفي العينين مسياره
مات المطر واعزيني واعزيهم
وفيني يعزي كل ضلع ضلع في جاره
The rain died, how did his poems live?
And the petrel is his coffin, and his ascent was his descent
It is the stars whose biography does not end in life
It is the sea whose clouds feed its rivers
O green paradise, when will it shine on your neighborhood?
The night is very late, and in my eyes is a path
The rain died and I console my poems
and my poems console me
And in my chest every rib console a rib in its neighbour
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