Do not meditate on my letters and the frills of my signatures
It is a mess of moans and cries
In my face there are a thousand stories indexed by isolation
Look at the sidewalks of alienation
You find my face scattered in the faces crossing the banks of the night
And the edges of my eyes are shelves of sand when the storms rest
And my pulse is weakening, heavy with nostalgia and passion
Stars falling like the remains of my life
Now I will arrange my cell in the evening
I gather my belongings from the lost lands that were blown by sad winds
Waiting for my wound to wake up
Let it devour me and I melt in it like wax in a candlestick at night
When you made the illusion of winning in the past
I did not find a gazebo for shade there
Except for the deadly pearls and mirages
And my hoarse call is echoing
Doesn't come back to me
Because the hills that surround me are crooked and dumb
It stays in the grooves of my chest
It pushes me to walk to the squares of lamentation
And my blood seeps from the pores of my skin
He looks endlessly like my tears
There I will not find you alone
The snitch surrounds you like a deer between thickets and savannah
And your face is bright
Shines with light
And the sun, in its jealousy, tries to burn your soft forehead
She is like a witch who wants to steal your face
And I remove the black sheets of the night from the face of the morning
the details of my story woven with flames and clouds
Your absence is like Mongol armies sweeping over me and burning my being
And all dreams
Outstretched arms covered with feathers like seagulls' wings
Swim with them, clearing the borders of the earth and the sky
Who will rescue me from the clutches of forgotten messages on the shelves?
I called out to the winds that brought me to throw scraps of scraps lying among the bushes of the ram and the desert
Leaves scattered in your school yard, picked up only by those who want to cry
It is embroidered with longing and nostalgia
I have become drunk to the point of intoxication with your sumptuous perfume
And these letters
A silk cord and the rest of it connects me to the same light
He is like a child babbling between a tender letter and a night
When you came
I was staying behind the mirage until your clouds rained down on me
Like a woman raging in fire, her exhalation and ether
The madness of the bound me like a captive, enchanted soldier
Did I tell you about the fortune teller?
As I take the first steps of my exile
There he said:
Your path lies in misery
You walk with him through the harshness of the hateful night
The wolves of drought accompany you, but they will not prey on you
Your calmness arouses terror, despite the swelling of her veins
You may find in the remains of the night a light coming from behind the hills
Here I will tell you my story when you took my heart, my hand, and my notebook
Now he is burdened with emotion
And the storms of passion throw me to the bottom of your hidden sea
Its currents sweep me into the depths like balls in your vein
Maybe I can reach your heart and write a thousand poems on its walls
And you recite your prose and tattoo the Brilliant with it
Doves repeat their tunes like a surreal choir on the Sidra stage
My words stutter at length when I speak to you
I might annoy him when I describe your stunning beauty
He might stone me with fists in his chest, or I wish he did
And passing by to the palaces of the meeting
They throw their last appointments at my shadow
But they are crushing what's left of me with their feet
And my heart is in its sanctuary, most of its solitude, a supplication
Now I will not leave your lofty sign
My clay is suffocating and I will not prevail against it
But it is no longer mine
Here he left me with the tattoo of age and the noise of my poems
It flows like a river between your fingertips and the pen
When you feel sleepy while reading
There multiply on the edges of my lips great lakes of spilled syrup
So when do you write Jasmine’s fingers?
I will be isolated from those who stay behind the curtains of the day and the maroon is within my
