من ينسى حزنه سريعايبكي لأسباب يجهلها

You blow like a wind,And I swing numb,Like an autumn leaf.

قلق على السريرو ليل يأتي بالضجر المُعلقعلى رف الكتبكيف أفسر للذي يغيب عن قتليلماذا لا أموت حية الآن؟

Only the raindrops Which falling on your shoulders,Know my thirst.

You are not dead nor alive.Each new morning you take your way between the crowd,but you never wonder where that creature who carried a lampThroughout the night to illuminate the road evaporates.

No one knew that fangs you showed in a gloomy way to snatch a loaf of bread from the jaws of crocodiles and to lick a drop of water from springs guarded by snakeswere before a few hours anything but a faint light creeping from between your lips into darkness.No one knew how you spent your night removing shards of glass stuck in your feet after a piece fell from the mirror of your dreams and shattered on the asphalt without your attention...

I sit with you spiritless.And while you were filling in the air with talks I don't hear,There was a crow unearthing my head and feeding on my thoughts.

I'm not that woman that you usually see among the crowd.I'm another woman who lives alone between the walls of her room-- as simple as a white handkerchief --Without lipstick nor a bra...

in the morning,When Claude Monet waves to me from behind the sun I check some poems that I concealed under the pillowfearing that the wind will disperse them in the air like their predecessors And I take my way to you.