غيمةٌ وموجة وعدم

Like a heavy cloud

burdened with unbearable excess,

my things seep away

like autumn falling on barren land,

without promise, and without waiting...

I...

this downpour of sorrow;

I have always danced to a different rhythm,

shaking in my place

as if carried by a wind whose source I do not know,

and I find no single explanation for it on the map of the world.

Like a wave of tide

the letter "ي" of his voice's tone between two movements

between the breaking of silence and the stillness of metaphor

as if his voice became music

moving on the maqam of Hijaz

like an excess of curiosity to know the latest

from the tales of the noble

you and I align

like two edges meeting

and when the ambiguity cleared

from the lashes of the lines

the haze of logic lifted

and things became clear

just as light comes after night

so I realized that clarity

needs no proof

just like the clarity of the falsehood

in the white garment

where flaws suddenly appear

in the purest places.

The pen is like a cloud that does not rain...

I need to write about myself,

to grant me a word

that rearranges the alphabet of love within me.

But...

there is a memory like a lump

that clings to me

like a balloon

neither letting me rise to the sky of hope,

nor bringing me down to the ground... peacefully!

So gravity halts,

and I remain suspended

in the "nihilism of feeling".