1. The river is a green epic waiting
So spread your wings and resound O lute

2. Come from the wilderness of the desert, from thirst
That still burns in the crushed body, blazing

3. Come O full moon, share with us our evening
Of you is the talk, and from your collection the news

4. Come from the torment of palms and commotion
From a balcony from which the moon departed and traveled

5. We are your guests so descend.. Your absences here
Two eyes flourishing in their depths the magic

6. Come, for the river is scented echoes
And we from every word you said are night talking

7. We traverse your virgin forests, we ask them
And the blue cloud listens and the river

8. The roses did not wilt.. They still thrive
A cup of red sighs squeezed

9. You still are in the “house of vines” a rhyme
Dewy if you hummed, dewy with it the journey

10. I passed by the dark one aimless
And with “the scarves” shy of you, apologizing

11. You watered her with the pure tears of eternity
She did not feel you until the journey was announced

12. The virgin of your poetry in memory, do I see her?
Which of the ghosts on the eyelids is broken?

13. Which of the tunes that you used to pour
In her hearing does she now recall, remember?

14. O intimate of generosity, watering people your wine
And in a hell of deprivation commits suicide

15. We are your guests.. So descend among us a tune
That still dreams warmth and rain in it

16. The amity ossified into a statue we circle
And the stone alone shares with me its secrets

17. I almost hear her angry and pouting
Hunger writhed in her and insomnia complained

18. Your wounded love broadcasts me: unfaithful ones
This one, and that, and other things it has

19. I was sculpted from a “goddess” and she is oblivious
O “God”.. mortals craved to touch her!

20. I loved her, my soul panted in a rhyme
In her poetry, my notebook scented of her poetry

21. And I never gained a cheek to rest upon
Famished I crumble in my jaws, melt

22. The misery of poetry in my lyre is fate
Enough, I am satiated with misery O fate!

23. And we kill the night wakefully wounded
O for childhood.. how sweet is the chatter in it!

24. The lyre of the house, we came from our bereavements
From the massacres that leave no survivors

25. We came to pluck you scattered tunes
In every throat among them a trace

26. Descend to us.. For you found consolation with us
Did not boredom shred you in your desert?