ثلج النجاة

These snows soothe my blood and depart with steps towards the whiteness that walked close to me, and I was within a bow's length of my tender desire and the intoxication of the meaning of singing with the horses on a night showered by stars. The moon entrusted me to the whispers of the winds to grant the ground a distraction from me and to remove from my palms the scattered waiting for him. In my blood, there is a source from which I have tired to prevent life; I move with it towards a deep well... the depths of a consciousness that has its own safety that will be fulfilled and will echo within me as songs.

The snow restores to me a vast homeland and touches within me a need that the years have accumulated, an emptiness that remains unbalanced, and a cup prepared for it in the evening that becomes a morning filled with nostalgia brought by the tenderness of enchantresses.

I and the cold in the snow are a fire that ignites in us the perfumes of spring and sends forth, before the final seasons, murmurs from our closeness.

I wander with everyone, reading lines beyond the whiteness and seeing around me from the purebred horses armies, and I run and run as if the horizon in the hands of the beautiful has warmth, and behind me the neighing arranges my parts, and my parts that fled before are surrounded by the gazelles in the whiteness.

I have become innocent, and the snow bears no guilt for what I intended. Whenever I headed north and wrestled with all the doubts it held, I stood upon what the songs desire, and the words flowed within me.

This is the state: warmth. So what is it to me if I delight repeatedly, and I was a burning thing for these snows, and for my steps, there is certainly salvation.