A year
Her scent in my clothes
Her taste in my mouth
When the morning prayer comes
I hear the anklet of her laughter
Between my steps and the minaret
A year
Disturbed my seclusion a thousand whores
The beloved, the pure relatives, the deceitful friends, the
traitors
All died over my soft dead corpse
A year
And my waiting for her remains the same
Now, I know that her lamps are turned off for eternity
That the darkness will eat the edges of my table
That I shall cry alone
Meet nobody
This destroyed boy will know how foolish he is
Time passes by with irony
70000 died of what?
70000 died on the road
70000 were killed by the military camp
And you are the same
As you were
The sound of life, of nature singing, Fairuz and a wheat grinder
A year that I will not insist on counting
Passed in my youth without a trace
I swing between immortality and piety
I bounce between grace and abasement
A year
And a thousand whores disturbed my seclusion
The beloved, the pure relatives, the deceitful friends and the
traitors
Put forth all their efforts
To give to the poor, by the passerby, the people helping them and
helping
me
And I am begging in the impoverished streets
For her face to perform one good deed.
Aribic Poetry 
