Have I had two roads, I would have chosen their third.
I am from there. I am from here. I am not there and I am not here. I have two names, which meet and part, and I have two languages. I forget which of them I dream in.
If the Olive Trees knew the hands that planted them, Their Oil would become Tears.
The days have taught you not to trust happiness because it hurts when it deceives.
My love, I fear the silence of your hands.
We are captives, even if our wheat grows over the fences/ and swallows rise from our broken chains./ We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are.
The stars had only one task: they taught me how to read. They taught me I had a language in heaven and another language on earth.
And if happiness should surprise you again, do not mention its previous betrayal. Enter into the happiness, and burst.
Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless.
Where can I free myself of the homeland in my body?
I learnt all the words worthy of the court of blood So that I could break the rule I learnt all the words and broke them up To make a single word: Homeland..
She does not love you. Your metaphors thrill her you are her poet. But that's all there's to it.
I love women whose hidden desires make horses put an end to their lives at the threshold
We suffer from an incurable malady: Hope.
I want to find a language that transforms language itself into steel for the spirit--a language to use against these sparkling insects, these jets.
Life defined only as the opposite of death is not life.
One day, I will be a poet. Water will depend on my visions.
The poem is in my hands, and can run stories through her hands.
And you became like the coffee, In the deliciousness, and the bitterness and the addiction.
... For me it is essential, essential for the poet to have a new toast, new songs.
We journey towards a home that does not halo our head with a special sun. Mythical women applaud us. A sea for us, a sea against us.
Words are a homeland.
Please take your time. I want you to kill me slowly so I can write my last poem to my wife's heart. They laughed, and took from me only the words dedicated to my wife's heart.
May poetry and God's name have mercy on us!
We Do as the ascendants to GOD ; the prisoners and the unemployeds Do , we Forget the Pain & Raise Hope ~
This peace will leave us as a cluster of dust...
In a world that has no heaven the earth becomes an abyss. And the poem is one of its consolation prizes. One of the qualities of the winds, north or south
I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them a single word: Home.
If there must be a moon, let it be high, a high moon made in Baghdad, neither Arab, nor Persian, nor claimed by the goddesses all around us.
I know who opens the door to the jasmine tree as it makes our dreams blossom for the evening's guests.
