1. قرّبتُ منهُ هديلَ الروحِ، فابتعدا

    حتى الصلاة، ولم يركع ولا سجدا

    I brought the soul's cooing close to him, so he drew away.

    Even prayer—yet he neither bowed nor prostrated.

  2. غطّيتُهُ بدمي... فاحتلَّ أوردتي

    حتى إذا متُّ غطَّاني ببعض صدى

    I covered him with my blood... so he occupied my veins.

    Until, when I died, he covered me with a little echo.

  3. أطعمتهُ حنطة الأحلام فاتنةً

    كالأمنياتِ، ولمّا جعتُ ما وَجَدَا

    I fed him the wheat of dreams, alluring

    as wishes; and when I grew hungry, he found nothing.

  4. سمّيتهُ وجعي فارتاح في تعبي

    مازلتُ أوقد قلبي كلّما بَرَدَا

    I named him my pain, so he rested in my weariness.

    I still kindle my heart whenever it grows cold.

  5. أقضي الحياةَ بعيداً عن منابتها

    كي يستقيم على الأيام مُنفردا

    I spend my life far from where it takes root,

    so he may stand upright upon the days, alone.

  6. إنْ قال كنتُ شهيداً، أو مشى قَدَمَاً

    أو شاءَ يُعبدُ كان الواحد الأحدا

    If he spoke, I was a martyr; or if he took a step,

    or wished to be worshiped, he was the One and Only.

  7. عيناهُ خارطة الدنيا وشهوتها

    ورحلةُ الشوقِ في الجفن الذي سهدا

    His eyes are the map of the world and its desire,

    and longing's journey in the eyelid that stayed awake.

  8. عيناهُ طعمُ أذان العصر يسحقني

    في الذكرياتِ ويُلقي في يدي الكبدا

    His eyes are the taste of the afternoon call to prayer, which crushes me

    in memories and casts the liver into my hand.

  9. عيناهُ رائحة الطين الذي صعدتْ

    منهُ الأمومةُ تجني بالدم الوَلَدَا

    His eyes are the scent of the clay from which rose

    motherhood, reaping the child with blood.

  10. عيناهُ إنْ مرَّتَا في الليلِ بارقةً

    أمضي بروحي وأنسى أرتدي الجسدا

    His eyes—if they pass through the night like a lightning flash,

    I go on with my soul and forget to put on the body.

  11. ستٌ وعشرون والتاريخُ يذبحني

    جوعاً، وأطعمهُ مافي يدي... ويَدَا

    Twenty-six, and history slaughters me

    with hunger, and I feed it what is in my hand... and a hand.

  12. ستٌّ وعشرون عاماً يا هوى وطني

    ما أثمرَ الوعدُ إلا موت من وُعِدَا

    Twenty-six years, O love of my homeland,

    the promise bore no fruit but the death of the one to whom it was made.

  13. طفلين كنا وكان الضوء موسمنا

    لما زرعناهُ قلنا نرتديه غَدَا

    We were two children, and light was our season.

    When we sowed it, we said we would wear it tomorrow.

  14. في بيدر العشق حين الأرض مورقةٌ

    حُبَّاً، ووردُ الخطا في وجنتيه ندى

    On love's threshing floor, when the earth was leafing

    with love, and the roses of footsteps were dew on his cheeks,

  15. حين العصافير تجني قمح أغنيتي

    قرب الشبابيك تُلقي في يديكَ مَدَى

    when the sparrows reaped the wheat of my song

    near the windows, casting an expanse into your hands,

  16. حين الكلام انتحارٌ والهوى وَجَعٌ

    ثغرين كنا إذا هبَّ الهوى اتَّحدا

    when speech was suicide and love was pain,

    we were two mouths; when love blew, they became one.

  17. لكننا الآن لما الضوءُ فاجأنا

    بكراً، حصدتَ، ولم أعبأ بما حُصِدَا

    But now, when the light surprised us in

    its virgin freshness, you reaped, and I cared nothing for what was reaped.

  18. لكنه اليأس قد ضيَّعتُ فيك دمي

    ماذاكَ فَقْدٌ، ولكنْ حالُ من فُقِدَا

    But it is despair: I have squandered my blood in you.

    That is not loss, but the state of one who was lost.

  19. إنْ جعتُ آكلُ خبز الناس عن ألمٍ

    أو كان منفى أرى في دجلةٍ بردى

    If I grow hungry, I eat people's bread out of pain,

    or if there is exile, I see Barada in the Tigris.

  20. لكنه الإسمُ هذا السرُ ضيّعني

    من ذا يصير لهذا الضائع البلدا

    But it is the name—this secret has left me lost.

    Who will become the homeland for this lost one?