خمسُ قصائد تقليديّة قصيرة

(1)

The rose trims my universes and plucks them

For every scent that rushes to the unseen

My stories are written in the paradises of passion

At the Day of Judgment.. no ink nor paper

I was born within me, and the echo of the trees narrates me

For the alphabet in my voice has its fragrance

My poetry is the seasons of Fairuz and my rhyme

The emerald of the wind in its depths is restless

A system of stabs, now bleeding within me

And how many (Brutus) sings.. then burns

(2)

Tomorrow is pouring on the stone of moments

It cracks the light within me.. I wish I were a stone

Exiled are the islands of sorrow in my lungs

For if I gasped, the sea and the journey would merge

My song is narrated by the hell of the letter

As if the fire in its nerves is a string

How many a blind pulse has died above the cloud of my blood

As if the heart mourns for me in the rain

I am a fugitive from a melody in a storm

The earth strikes me.. and the walls apologize

If I awaken, my tremors prune me

And if I disappear, fate wraps me in the void

My life is not exactly what I experience

Oh gasp of clay.. does my soul leave a trace?!

(3)

I engage the road to my absence

And the tears of the earth limp in my mirage

I engage with the childhood of the light of grass

That trembles above a cloud of torment

The heartstrings of the universe are pliable, but

Without a heart, they will flutter in my estrangement

I am the coming one, I will live without time

My life scripts me with punishment

It refines the waves of my flames in seconds

And extinguishes the fire of my waves, my desires

So no line from the heavens awakens

And no moon sketches in my book

With the mind of the flute, a melody will lead

My veins with a symphony of the wild

Its ribs will be polished by my madness

And its music will be drunk by the hills

On a mountain, birds distribute me

So I come to them, and I strive in my abode

To the unknown I go, the depth of my life

And since I was born, my return weaves me

(4)

I baked the light in the corners of my heart

A loaf for the lost poor

Poor are the longing souls when they love

The spirit starves day or night

In their eyes is a wandering dawn

And gazes that revel like drunkards

Thus the road will envy them

It hides the paths in its pupils

The book of the universe tells them a meaning

And erases it if they know the homes

If (Layla) promises them a day

Their hearts become - with longing - a wall

Here the lovers have all been killed

And the heartstrings have become a shrine for them

(5)

I see myself and life is the gasp of clay

On a root that is thickened by my saliva

I see myself in a fantasy of its void

It weaves me with its flesh, my veins

And the wound of the flute bleeds in my vein

With music from the fluttering sorrow

With the days, I have a fate like my age

Like walls that converse in the cracks

The Day of Judgment races me towards my soul

And I precede it with my drowning journey

I see my shadow conversing with me.. and my chest

Like the silence of the grass tapping on my brilliance

So I shout to myself: Oh my parallel nonexistence

Strip me bare.. here is my true face

(Riyadh – February 2025)