I want to write like a madman
Who does not realize what would be his final words
Panting behind the idea and the no idea
Driven by a desire
To where he wants to go, and where he does not want to go
I will follow my thirst
And fear satiation.
**
Alone I will be neighbor to the sea
In case a blue infatuated song
seeks harbor in my notebook
My thirsty spirit flirts spiritually with the waves
Seeking attention from their shining face
The letters melt on their shores
Lost in the magic of its laughter.
Oh charming danger!
You are the healing and cure of the complaining heart
You are the beloved.
We both deserve this love.
**
On the sand
He writes what will be wiped away
By the turbulent waves
Yes,
He knows that the words will vanish
Like invisible fine dust
But he sings like a happy bird,
And sometimes like a sad bird
He is not waiting for his echo
Nor is he sharpening his hearing for the of trap of possibilities
He just sings all the time
And discerns life in songs.
**
He paints a sea
Sprinkling music on the waves
He scatters shells that listen to the music
He complements his painting with seagulls
That mess and confuse the colours
**
O! silence dance with the sedition of the light
Hold its fingertips extremely slowly
Let the night witness the taste of love in its beginning
**
Seagulls
At midnight
In a deep enjoyable silence
Angels have come down to hug the whiteness in our souls
A cloud has kissed one who has been flirting with her since a long time.
There is perfume of words
**
People are sleeping.
What is this poet doing?
Is he living in illusions?
Or catching the butterflies of dreams?!
**
One day I will leave
And leave behind me
Poems scattered by the wind,
And some wishes
That choose to rest with me
**
I will sing
As long as life
Remains a spacious sky
Able to listen attentively to a poet
**
The worry of leaving
And a smile kneaded with a sprinkling of farewell questions
And songs in our sunset sky.
That is what we share.
**
My poem is the daughter of a throng,
A page run away from chaos,
A song straying from an old café,
An ever-noisy street,
A word eavesdropped from someone sitting behind me in the restaurant,
Contentious children in a school bus returning home,
A wife always complaining of everything for any reason,
A disorganized newspaper vendor in the streets,
An abandoned chair forgotten in a deserted corner,
Eyes devouring passers-by with their questions,
My Poem that has run away and never thought of returning.
-Translated by Dr. Shihab Ghanem
