The night travels over the wings

The stranger passed carrying the heaviness and sorrows of time

His face showing the signs of wariness like those from the bay

And the spaces that adds wounds upon wounds

Two things , the traveling night and the stranger, meets at the point of sorrow

As if the victorious heavy time, was made for them, to bond them together where they can not be bonded

The passing night, leans over the traveler
Pained by the deaf lonliness , lost in infinite time.

He spoke to what the darkness did to him : do not leave me stranger, nothing is left but us, and the unending sorrow.

This road is tricky, shaped by the winds over its madness. Spreading over it, memories of those that passed through it, either to be lost within it, or left it to be become homeless.

The traveler said to it “ you left me no one to walk with me through your darkness, but left me to be comforted by my pain, they sing to me at night to dull my pain”

And that , is not but a passing cloud , shielding me, from what remains from my sorrow, as it leaves.

Waiting to be healed, what a waste!

The stranger said: my visions are flashing in front of me, and still cannot find guidance, as if all directions are none existent , and as if, the seen and the unseen, become one.
The sky spreads its first starts.
Left with no songs, or mourning, with no poems to be recited and no echo.

Who is there for the traveler to see him in his glory!
The sand cries , and the night stirs the longing of reaching the bay, by the memory of the sea.
Then the mirage breaks over the dew

There is no water in the memory, nothing but drought! It only looks like springs!

The traveler said: from the mirrors of the soul, I carry on towards the day, my path is within my vision not my imagination
And my vision brings me back to where the dream ends

Egyptian poet living abroad