1. Silence your question; the night tide is brooding,
And dawn stands hostage, while time hoards all.

2. The wind laments, and longing takes flight,
Enveloping space, as stars fall and moonlight spills.

3. Silence your question; no horizons in doubt
Or trials to open the way forward; all vain imagination.

4. This barren wasteland matured in our bones
Till we were consumed by the sands of its years.

5. It quaffs down our waking draughts of coffee
Like traces erased by the desert wind.

6. It beats in our hands the tent pegs, scattering
Sunrays and stars in dismantling disarray.

7. The silk-stringed lute sighing songs
Once recalled your memories, made you heed?

8. So it provoked you, rhymes tumbling,
On the wound of a doe, a faltering trail.

9. The palms lament the hands that planted them,
Long exiled, uprooted by time and patience.

10. What numbed your hands on distant saplings
Had numbed your heart—for the world is but mirage!

11. What do you want? While the hue of truth pales
In your eyes, the colours of lies grow bright.

12. What do you want? The ink's mood poses
Questions in drizzle, dry answers spread wide.

13. What do you want? The ink's mood is no language
Of life, no rain in seasons of drought.

14. O you who when the wind recites her Joseph's shirt
Seal the book of your heart to ponder the tear!

15. Who drinks me at the mouth of the well—
My blood, filtering clear, then bitter again.

16. What do you want? Every steed of pedigree
Has spirit you lack, do not fly or race!

17. Unmask yourself, then dream what the vines
Hide for you of pleasures to unfurl.

18. Read your fate, o you in whom each limb
Has turned against a night heavy with harm.

19. You are your fate. None other like it has slept
On tablets or mounted watches virgin.

20. How do you mirror each other, killer and killed?
Why don't islands in you coalesce and unite?

21. None was cheaper to the world and its people
Than one made cheap, though holding earth and man!

22. None who found rest on the saddle of time at noon
Except those who marched while rest marched away.

23. Arabicize or garble it, for the lanterns
Have all gone cold, no oil left, or sparks.

24. Neither can prose rouse from the dust,
Nor poetry's tears, the old bones and awe.

25. Harness your tongue, or wield your pen, but no language
Returns to its Bedouin candor before breaking apart.

26. Never look back: the cutting of ties is stone
That stones the tongue or pierces the sight.

27. Corner your steed—no shame to horses—for soon
Comes your turn, and the butcher awaits.

28. Yet—here is the cosmic revolt in my flesh,
Rising, as walls collapse, how it wakes!

29. Is there not in you a dream that greets us,
Other than death, than elegy and sadness?

30. In their weakest banners, all defeats
Are defeats of self, as thought revolved.

31. What can you say? The ode is tired, no path
Left to travel its span, no patience.

32. This your speech in antique summer, how many
Sheaves of night gathered, husks filled with ashes!

33. O guide of the caravan, this is our caravan, addled
By circling the storms, wringing and writhing!

34. O guide of the caravan—I cannot see, though I see
In your voice the flute, afloat, then cascading!

35. What can you say, I wonder: "The horizons are but foam,
The trail a smile, abundant rain pouring down?"

36. What can I say: "The swords are blood,
Honour a pearl, and the army victorious?"

37. "The time will not come, and the butcher lies dying."
But behind him, a thousand at my shoulders—

38. While we remain, the butcher has no deterrent!
Gather your scattered parts; the night's face broods darkly,

39. Dawn stands hostage, and time hoards all.
Read your fate, o you in whom each limb

40. Has turned against a dawn heavy with harm.
None was cheaper to the world and its people

41. Than one made cheap, though holding earth and man.
Arise, catch yourself—O youth—blaze your trail. Arise!

42. The bend of years burns with fervor of longing.
Arise, catch yourself. Legends of visions have fused

43. With blood rivalry: swell and be turbulent!
Arise, o rebel! Take out your steps, and say:

44. "Before this blackness, the sea and the voyage!"
O Cordova lost to future days—I came tomorrow

45. And did not find you; I will come when love regains sight.
O Aqsa mosque: peace has come near;

46. So enter, upon you Allah's peace, O Omar!