And of me say the fools: I entered the lodges of women And never left. And they call for my hanging, Because about the matters of my beloved I, poetry, compose. I never traded Like others In Hashish. I never stole. I never killed. I, in broad day, have loved. Have I sinned? And of me say the fools: With my poetry I violated the sky’s commands. Said who Love is The honor-ravager of the sky? The sky is my intimate. It cries if I cry, Laughs if I laugh And its stars Greatens their brilliance If One day I fall in love. What so If in the name of my beloved I chant, And like a chestnut tree In every capital I, her, plant. Fondness will remain my calling, Like all prophets. And infancy, innocence And purity. I will write of my beloved’s matters Till I melt her golden hair In the sky’s gold. I am, And I hope I change not, A child Scribbling on the stars’ walls The way he pleases, Till the worth of love In my homeland Matches that of the air, And to love dreamers I become A diction-ary, And over their lips I become An A And a B. Poet: Nizar Qabbani
Posted on: Sun, 23 Jun 2013 07:00:11 +0000