My dear

My love: if they ask you about me

One day, don’t think too much

Tell them with pride

(…he loves me…he loves me so much)

My little girl: if they reproach you one day

How did you cut your silky hair?

How did you break a good pot?

Since I raised him for months

It was like summer in my country

Distributes shadows and fragrances

Tell them: (I cut my hair

(…because he who loves him loves him short

My princess: So we danced together

On the candles we tune the ether

And about the statement in seconds

Our presence is rays and light

And everyone thought you were in my arms

Butterfly wants to fly

Quietly continue your dance

…and make a bed out of my ribs

And proudly sings:

(…he loves me…he loves me so much)

My love: if they told you that I

I do not have slaves and palaces

And I don’t have a diamond necklace in my hand

Surround your little good

Tell them loudly

Oh my first and last love

Tell them: (…Enough of me

(…that he loves me so much

My love, oh my love, oh my love

My love for your eyes I am big

…and will always remain great

My love is reading her cup

Please… stop reading the cup

When you are with me…

Because I reject this absurd absurdity,

in human feelings.

What do you wish, madam, to know?

And what do you want to discover?

You were the one who was on the sands of my chest..

You want warmth and safety.

And you sing in the wilds of love like a horse…

Didn’t you say one day…

Is my love for you one of the wonders of time?

Didn’t you say that I…

A sea of ​​tenderness and tenderness?

How do you ask, madam,

About me…the kings of elves?

When I am there…

How can you not believe what I am saying?

And you are asking for the opinion of your friend, the cup…

Stop.. please.. from reading the unseen..

If it is good news…

or news..

Or it was from a dove carrying an inscription in its beak.

I am the one who will release the dove..

I am the one who will write the scripture.

Bilqis’ poem

thank you ..

thank you . .

My girlfriend was killed.. and you can.

To drink a cup on the grave of the martyr

And my poem was assassinated.

Is there any nation on earth?

Except us, would you assassinate the poem?


She was the most beautiful queen in the history of Babylon


It was the tallest palm tree in the land of Iraq

If she was walking…

They are accompanied by peacocks…

And followed by deer..

Balqis.. my pain..

Oh the pain of the poem when the fingers touched it

Do you see..

From after your hair will the ears rise?

Oh green Nineveh…

Oh my blonde gypsy…

O waves of the Tigris. .

She wears her legs in the spring

The sweetest anklets..

They killed you, Balqis.

What Arab nation…

that is

Are you assassinating the sounds of the nightingales?

Where is the sky?

And the sluggish one?

And the first tartars?

Tribes ate tribes.

And foxes killed foxes.

And spiders killed spiders…

Swear by your two eyes…

It harbors millions of planets.

I will say, O my moon, about the wonders of the Arabs

Is championship an Arab lie?

Or like us history a liar?


Don’t miss me

the sun is after you

Don’t shine on the coasts

In the investigation I will say:

The thief is now wearing the clothes of a fighter

I say in the investigation:

A talented leader has become like an entrepreneur.

I say:

The story of radiation is the most ridiculous joke ever told.

We are a tribe among the tribes

This is history, Balqis.

How does a human

Between gardens and sheds

Five letters to my mom

good morning sweetie

Good morning my sweet saint

It’s been two years, mom

On the boy who sailed

On his fairy tale

and stashed in his bags

green morning

And her stars, her rivers, and her whole red brother

and hid in his clothes

Tarabina of mint and thyme

And a Damascene night..

I’m alone..

smoke my cigarette bored

And my seat is bored

And my sorrows are birds…

Inspect – after – for a threshing floor

I know the women of Europe.

I knew the emotions of cement and wood

I knew the civilization of fatigue..

I floated India, floated the bond, floated the yellow world

I did not find..

On a woman combing my blond hair

She carries it in her purse.

to the sugar brides

And clothe me if I’m naked

And pick me up if I stumble

hey mom..

hey mom..

I am the boy who sails

I still remember him

Long live the sugar bride

How.. how, mom?

I became a father…

Wasn’t it bigger?

Good morning from Madrid

What’s the good news?

I recommend it to you, mother.

That little girl

She was my father’s best friend.

He treats her like a child

He invites her to a cup of coffee

and water it..

and feed her…

He showers her with his mercy.

And my father died

And still living in the dream of his return

She searches for him around his room

She asks about his cloak.

She asks about his newspaper.

She asks – when summer comes –

About Fayrouz his eyes..

To spread over his palms..

Dinars of gold.

Nizar Qabbani poems