You have the face of a man who gently caresses field flowers and dandelions. And a smile that is like a dagger, cutting the sun in halves.

You are the Arabian stallion that neighs on the crossroad of my heart ache covering me with the dust of my own ardor.

رجلٌ في خريف العمرشعره رماديّ وأشعثكحياتي...يقفتحت شمسٍ لا تمسّهتحت مطرٍ لا يبلّلهوفي عيونه مئات الغيوممئات الغيومكي يمطر كلمةولا يقولهاداخل نظرته التي تلوح للحزنكباب مخلوعترقد حياتي.

He wasn't like those handsome men you see on the fashion billboards. He was handsome in a rugged way like a wood cutter with an unkept beard or a man who just finished fixing the engine of his car, wiping his oily hands over his white flannel shirt. Like a man who knows that he has starry eyes that can bring stars closer but doesn't even bother to look.

He wasn't like those handsome men you see on the fashion billboards. He was handsome in a rugged way like a wood cutter with an unkempt beard or a man who just finished fixing the engine of his car, wiping his oily hands over his white flannel shirt. Like a man who knows that he has starry eyes that can bring stars closer but doesn't even bother to look.

أشهد ألّا رجلاً استطاع ترويضي الّا أنتَ..

هُوَ الرجل الذي لن يكرِّره هَذَا الدهر مرّتين..