ذَاكِرَةُ القُدَامى..

I lived beside the sorrow of water

I was its friend when it longed for bags on the day of departure

I dwelled with it in body

Perhaps a remnant inside me shelters a missing prophet

And if a monk settles in the cities of prayer

He will not return to the city as a monk

He is content with the memory of the ancients..

As it records in his rituals a returning mail

***

I lived beside a lantern in our old home

I left it for a while, and it came back reproaching

I betrayed it since the extinguishing in its absence loomed,

And since it became pale

And it granted me something from the dozing

As a rose appeared on my lungs, seeming to be drowsy

So what is the salvation?!

And my other self is fading

And this night has not poured into my pot a companion

Then this certainty followed its doubts

O doubt, your axe will deny a woodcutter

*

Take me, O my coming humanity..

For my hand will not shake in the distance, a thief

I am afraid of others who took shelter under my thick tree

And replaced it with a burden

I am afraid of myself

I sell my maze as books

Will I one day sell a writer?!