خمْسونُ ولَّتْ... ما أردْتُّ وداعَها

رَحلَتْ وخلَّتْ في يَدَيَّ مَتاعَها

Fifty passed... I did not want to bid her farewell

She left and abandoned her belongings in my hands

كنتُ الصَّبيَّ وكان عُمْريَ فكرةً

هَمَستْ إلى كَفٍ تَلومُ ذِراعَها:

I was a boy and my age was an idea

She whispered to a palm blaming its arm:

أيلولُ ماتَ وما تبلَّلَ نازحٌ

سَكَنَ الخيامَ فأسْكنَتهُ طِباعَها!

September died without shedding a tear

It settled the tents so it suited its nature

كبُرَ الصَّبيُّ وصارَ بَحْرًا طـيِّـبًا

حَمَلَ الغريبةَ واستظلَّ شِراعَها

The boy grew up and became a gentle sea

It carried the stranger and shaded her sails

لكنَّهـا لمّـا تَـفَـتَّـحَ قـلبُها

هَجَرتْ، وألقتْ للسُّؤالِ قِناعَها

But when her heart blossomed

She left, and gave an excuse for questioning

فأجابت المرآةُ: مهلًا، ما أنا

دارُ الوجوهِ، وما ألِفْتُ خِداعَها

So the mirror answered: Wait, I am not

The home of faces, and am not accustomed to deceiving her

كمْ راودتني مثلَ ماءٍ غافلٍ

رَجَفَ امتثالًا للحَصى وأطاعَها

How often has something heedless courted me

Trembling in obedience to pebbles and obeying them

والآنَ أمضيْ نحوَ موتيَ شاعِرًا

مَلَكَ الحياةَ بلحظةٍ... وأضاعَها

And now I go towards my death as a poet

Who possessed life in a moment...and lost it