ما شفت لي عمر ٍ تعدى برتابه .... اقفى وهو ينتظر عودة بلاد
والشمس تاهت في وسط غابه ... يسوقها نخاس ويتلاه جلاد
وغريب مر العيد ما اندق بابه .... لا له وطن ولا حبيبه ولا اعياد
ياعمر طاريك على البال جابه .... طفل يتيم ٍ عن الام نشاد
بيده قلم مكسور, مقطع كتابه .... رثه ثيابه خصره مبطي عن الزاد
نعله براه القيظ يشبه ترابه ....متقرظ ابهامه صابر ومعتاد
حلمه بسيط يشتري اليوم طابه .... واما لباس مثل ملبوس الاولاد
في عيونه الحسره جمره مذابه .... جرحه خفي نازف ٍ ماله ضماد
طفل طلبهم ,قالوا ياورع مابه .....ويبكي من شاف القطيعه والاجحاد
اعطوه نظرات الوحوش الذيابه....حتى اقرانه مابهم شخص وداد
يظن ان سحنة وجهه اسبابه.......عاد المرايا ودمعته تفرط اكباد
يا كنهم عدوان ما هم قرابه .... ياكن في قلوبهم اولغا و جلعاد
النوم له ملجأ احلامه العابه ....توسد احلامه بامه بلا وساد
تلعب معه تضحك تمسح اتعابه .....تفرش يديها وضمة الام تهواد
ياعمر مر العمر مثل السحابه.... تزفزفه ريح الليالي للاضداد
ياعمر كم بالكون حياة تشابه .... او كنها ايام ٍ على الخلق تنعاد
في رحلة العمر تشوف الكآبه ... . الظلم وافر والشقى يخلق اصفاد
يمكن يعوي الذيب من اوجاع نابه .... يمكن يصير الليل رفيق الاجواد
I have never seen my life go beyond its uncertainty.... I stand waiting for my country to return
And the sun was lost in the middle of a forest... driven by a slaver and followed by an executioner
A stranger who passed the holiday did not knock on his door... He had no homeland, no lover, and no holidays
O Omar, you have come to mind.... An orphaned child from the mother, Nashad
In his hand is a broken pen, the fragment of his writing.... His clothes are shabby, his waist is too short of provisions
His sandals are like dirt in the heat...he has a sore thumb, he is patient and accustomed
His dream is simple: he buys a piece of clothing today... or clothes like children’s clothes
In his eyes, grief is a melted ember... His wound is hidden and bleeding, with no bandage.
A child asked for them, they said, Oh, what's wrong with him.....and he who sees estrangement and disobedience cries
They gave him the looks of wolfish beasts...even his peers didn't think he was a friendly person
He thinks that his facial appearance is the cause of it. He returned the mirrors and his tears overflowed his heart
Oh, they are enemies, they are not related.... Oh, they are Olga and Gilead in their hearts
Sleep is a refuge for him, his dreams are his toys... his dreams of his mother are cushioned without a pillow
She plays with him, laughs, wipes away his tiredness, spreads her hands, and hugs her mother soothingly
O Omar, life has passed like a cloud... the wind of the nights blows it away towards opposites
O Omar, how similar life is in the universe.... Or are it days that will be repeated over creation?
In the journey of life you see depression... Injustice is abundant, and misery creates shackles
The wolf may howl from the pain of its fang.... The night may become the companion of the horses
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