المساهمات : 496
    تاريخ التسجيل : 14/09/2010


    مُساهمة  Admin في الإثنين أبريل 15, 2013 2:53 pm

    Translated by Abbas El Sheikh

    The voice of the skies has cracked from her pagan silence,
    The violet sings in lust for her smile
    And the angels supplicate for the fading grief
    Between her eyes.

    My love ...
    May the wilderness gather the remains
    Of a passion moaning in your hands,
    A passion of cooing,
    A passion of departure,
    A passion of the poem in exile
    Which recites a wailing for her roving poet
    Between the dust of dating or the rain of memory.

    Why was I burnt by the warmth of her turning?

    I might be the last of the returnees
    From the maze of her pastoral forests,
    Pasturing my suicide
    While it is resorting to the bleeding of the sublime question:
    Why am I in love with you?

    The fingers of my soul play with your hair.

      الوقت/التاريخ الآن هو الأحد يناير 20, 2019 10:15 am