1. O mother of Omarr, I am not one
Who sells poetry in stores

2. Should a poem, captured by the language of pronouns
Be displayed in stores?

3. And you will not find a pronoun in a place
Where unjust poetry is marketed, like the trains of cloaks, distracted

4. By people's livelihoods and fates
Not in a tavern where poems are served

5. With wines and cigarettes
Nor on a street corner where poems are disgraced, under pastries

6. Not in a theater where tales are woven
On the biography of prostitutes, not the chaste

7. Nor in an assembly where poems are counted
When rulers commit grave sins

8. And my poetry is but parts of a soul
That if gathered, resembles a poet's portrait

9. With tears without eyelids, and a pulse
Without a heart, and steps without a walker

10. And fire without timber, and a wound
Without bleeding, and complaints to sleepless nights

11. And love without lovers, and blame
Without guilt, and separation without a departing one

12. And a path without lights, and a rock
Over the moon, and night without ending

13. And a name without a title, like plants
On water, contemplated by fates

14. And wailings of an ear in the blowing
Of listless winds, hopeless

15. And land without Canaan, and a house
Without walls, and a sword without a rebel

16. And victory without war booty, and peace
Without land, and Jerusalem lost

17. And a child who takes shelter from the cold of winter
With a garment sewn from the warmth of feelings

18. And hair let down, so shadows stretched
With which the old man takes shelter from hot winds

19. And despair extending its hands to death
That beckons to it with my poetry like good news

20. And patience that makes death patient with something
Of hopes in a supportive future

21. So death became, in me, between perseverance
And despair, arguing confused

22. And a sea without waves in which nobles survived
Whose homes are graves

23. And a prison without bars in which are none
But cubs and predatory birds

24. And a mother who shone behind the letters
And light that passed between the curtains

25. Verily, poetry is the blackness of darkness
With the light of the mother it shines like lamps

26. What I have hidden and not hidden from you
Isn't poetry a house of secrets?

27. And my soul is but verses of poetry
When they come out, the days of the poet are empty

28. So the angels judge them with singing
But angels without feelings

29. Remaining under the seven heavens waiting
For the genius of early times in later times

30. And showing patience, then seeking from Ukaz
Searching in emptiness without finding more

31. Like one who thirsts, seeking water with a bucket
While the water in the earth's depths is concealed

32. Until God permits, so it goes
To where poetry is the weapon of the rebel

33. And relief of the distressed, and rescue of the thirsty
And means of the sick, and self-sufficiency of the lost

34. And gear of the knight, and war song
And delight of the victor, and speech of the commander

35. And wisdom of the wise, and knowledge of the adept
And enjoyment of the entertainer, and skills of the magician

36. And fervor of the lover, and elegy of the bereaved
And star of the sleepless, and tears of the confused

37. And repentance of the penitent, and garment of the home
And prostration of the prostrating, and attire of the visitor

38. And tradition and renewal, and revival
And history and glory and virtues

39. And human and curriculum and thought
And dignity and belonging and pride

40. So if Ukaz appears, it descends upon it
As a bird descends upon a spring

41. Drinking then giving drink from pure poetry
Flowing like rainwater

42. If only the children were like the fathers in taste
And if only today were like the past that is gone

43. And if only the alive were free like the imagination
Or the dream, or the traveling illusion

44. And I am dead but I want my death
To spread in circles

45. So which sea does not have a share
Of the soul, and which sea has departed!

46. So yesterday's death was the portion of the long poem
And today the one blessed with plenty is the short one

47. And my soul is but a river with floods
And ebbs, its water flowing to the sea

48. But the river's survival depends
On water whose source is the pure rain

49. So what is the case when life becomes harsh
And stingy with arousing revolts?

50. So now you must realize that I
Am a poem with no match in the present

51. For I find a verse has split me
With what it has brought upon me from calamities

52. Dearer to me than a cowardly body
And a lifetime whose soil covers graves

53. Verily, life is bound to decay
And the verse remains circulating among people

54. And from two eyes, were it not for them
The eye would not find the way to graves

55. And from a family who perfected morals
And lineage counted among prides

56. And from five parts on paper and a tenth
On earth picked up by vultures

57. Verily Palestine is a heavenly book
So let no disbeliever come near it

58. And of what is in the soil of treasures
And what the sky conceals of wonders

59. And what the women wore of jewelry
And what the elders visited of shrines

60. And what the tyrants carved of palaces
And what the caliphs wore of bracelets

61. And what the gnostics invented of sciences
And what the great philosophers said

62. Thus you will not find my name in the book
Of anthems for children still young

63. Nor in the content of books of singing
Or poetry or contemporary art

64. And you will not find a jurist who associates my name
With a verse of mine he related on platforms

65. And the day it becomes known that I have died
The blind insights will disturb my rest

66. And the sick of heart will disturb my peace
With an opinion rooted in the obstinate West

67. Verily, following glory is the pride
Of men, by it the long-haired are humiliated

68. So if you wish to return to me dead
You will not find a name for me in graves

69. But search for me in a grave
On which there is only "A Passerby's Grave"

70. For the last cry for truth was my poetry
At a time when truth had no supporter

71. And the last commotion of beauty was
At a time when beauty's fortune faltered

72. So beware your eyes when you wish
To delve into interpreting a poet