ππ©π¦ αͺIαGO αͺEαIαOα
An Online Literary Journal of Translations
POETRY
Like An Ink or a LanguageΒ
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Like an ink or a language,
In our love relation,
We resemble a letter in a language,
It becomes dry,
Then be petted by the warmth, then it flows.β¨β¨
The night chortles when we chat with,
We crave the ends of the dream,
And recognize that some rendezvouses.β¨β¨
In the time of the drought,
We write our names and engrave them in the wind,
We end, and the seasons would sympathy while we parch;
When the winter is the master of the flood.
The clouds of glory prevail,
We scrub the lantern of darkness when we show up,
And coo like a towerβs pigeons on the ramparts.β¨β¨
The tulips blossom at crevices of the walls and in the sands,
It is if a mountain of frost steals a hearing,
And roars with passion that made its heart soft and bent,
As though it were befalling yearningly by an earthquake.
β¦.
(Self-translation from ARABIC)
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