Drown in the furnace of melody standing at the edges of a crimson cloud
On the cusp of sunset color
I think of the sparkle of a gold necklace and the silver splendor of a pendant that colonizes your neck
I think of the glass buttons of your shirt as stars coming through broken light
You are interested in dismantling the burning darkness
Confused by the light waving toward our eyes
I am trying with a black and white brush to draw a small wing for your next flash
Filling the edges of a black velvet painting, for a clearly visible departure, extending a path to us that is not crooked.
In my letter, I try to record the fleeting moments from your green steppes
Like desert moments when they bring back their past meadows and pass through their blue clouds
I came with her from the bare slopes of the sand with the fast wind
From every absence the wind took her towards the crying diaspora in our insomnia
Towards narrow holes from which images and words do not fall
I keep up with the sighs in the echo of my broken voice
I take you to the farthest shadows
To the fullness of depth and abundance
Decode your shy mystery and draw your shining fear like the hissing of ears of corn
Snapels of a field that touch the cloud waves
Like a shy field, I sway my astonishment towards your fragrant perfume
Longing does not have an arm that extends emotional bridges to the absent
Places have no eyes, so hidden tears shed in the canopies
Isn't it time yet? Is there no place for longing?
In the thoughts of memories, existence eludes us so that the encounters are eternal
No heart or place is excluded, my friend of memories, my friend
A moment for a loose strand of hair from under your handkerchief
A flash of the windows overlooking our deliberate passage
There is no reluctance to leave, and carrier pigeons do not arrive
Nothing has disappeared or any defect, and the reasons are many
Perfume, coincidence, solitude, songs and pots
Calmness alone raises confusion and does not answer questions
The evenings that are absent from them confuse me and hurt me
I rush to you with my pens, my coffee, my cigarette, and my quiet corner
I address you with all the names that come to my mind
Sometimes I say, 'You,' sometimes, 'Em,' and sometimes, 'Etaf, O Melody, or the Sultana, or Maryam, or Najd, or Laila.'
It doesn't matter what I call you, but you come
You come with all the qualities of a jellyfish and you come like the water of the sky
You even bring the opposite, like a lost mirage that my soul embraces and becomes familiar with
A mirage intertwines with my thirst, so we search for the river
But we are sure that you are upstream reading about our travels
A river wave away, a braided message falls from our hands
Triumphant with words that resemble the buttons of your light
We write you as a miracle, a prophet before whom we are defeated
Like a call to the clouds from the mouths of my thirst
Longing creates a new sadness
Unspoken sadness and unseen feeling
Hungry fields
A field scarecrow beckons to the birds and calls to them
And you are slipping into the most painful silence
You once wrote phrases that only make me sad
It seems that the metaphors are sharper and the rift is shadowed by them
From the tips of your fingers, you borrow the alphabet from letter to letter
And now you forget! Why only me remembers?
You stay with us from memory to memory
When I realized that you are a sea that inspires us with its mystery
With love, we set sail to drown in your pain
But you will come
You will come at dawn, alone and ashamed
Like a sleepy eye that has just been lost
The light is late, but it is coming
Our lighthouses will rest and fall asleep to the roar of the waves
You will restore the constructions of perfumes and greenery in the courtyards of the fields and the lines
The larks will return to us, and the songs, thoughts, and poems will return to us
You are absent enough
We are present without shelter
You will also come back and go and not disappear
You are not the only one who reminds us of our sadness
There are only those in our hearts whose names are written on the list of longing
Like your first name and sometimes a compound name
They exist within novels, stories, very short stories, and tangible words in our senses
In the pictures too, in the songs of the morning, the calm of the evening, the distances, the shadow next door, and the road
You are born with the rain before it waters our wheat and before our wheat becomes a loaf that feeds our hunger.
Also born in smiles and the beginnings of bursting into tears
We do not miss anything from you, even our dreams embrace you and fade away with you
They don't see you, but they are good and their eyes are piercing
In my eyes, they see you blooming like velvet carnations
You ignite the branches of longing, so you sparkle with jealousy, so I hide you with an eyelid and a barrier
What am I going to say! The night asks me a flash in your eyes
Oh, you're hiding a star
But I answered the wind’s question. In my heart, it planted gardens, carnations, anemones, and chrysanthemums
Do not reveal her perfume
I chanted my sighs to him, and I was astonished by his standing, and he continued playing rustling with the pine branches
And here you are, time after time, coming and going, and we don't ask you why we don't forget you
ليست هناك تعليقات:
إرسال تعليق