The sun rises going the rounds
as though it were tied to the apple tree
One day if we live we will be back
making the rounds like the sun.
Little finger painted with henna, little copper fingernail, dice
is it possible to leave a lover in this world?
Because of the orchard the sun does not pass my window.
As for me I have turned yellow, shriveled by love.
Do not whiten the rooftree of the low house.
I am alone, I am unhappy, do not be cruel to me.
Why do you look out the door all the time?
I would give my life for the darkness of your eyes.
The child of the bai drinks water from a golden cup.
Under the moon a cloud, the moon’s child.
And I, I have turned yellow, withered by love.
My beloved, the face is covered with blood.
The falcon’s face, covered with blood.
The wind blew, a curl of hair came loose.
A wick took it, and the face covered with blood.
I built a house and it was a mirage.
But it was a shelter for my whole life.
The point of my stick was not solid
and our night had its danger.
I am dying because I always watched the road.
I looked to right and to left.
Neither you nor i will ever be done
watching the road, watching the road.
The seas turn into horses
I drank to quiet my sorrow
but it grew wilder all the time.
(from the Middle East, translated by W.S.M)