I part my days:
One half for daughters not able yet
To count by hand
Or walk with open heart,
And a half for the man huddling upon the age
As heavy as the war
Or, like a palm with no breath of odour.
What left I turn to birds
Replete with white…
Fleeting sea gulls,
Butterflies lisping with magic,
Signs of Surprise,
Tales about elves,
And the carol
Living deep in the dream
Narrated by the grandma
As she was warning me
To run away
So that the core of the sea would cool off.
But, I forget her warning,
Wandering far out in my head,
But .. the clock calls to my dreams
So I come back…
To part my days:
One half for daughters not able yet
To jump as high as the wash rope
Burdened with woolen clothes,
And half
For the man sitting in silence
Away…
Sipping the nectar of the present
And cursing upon the future sorrow.
Translated from the Arabic by the author