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 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.
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…
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.
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
And her stars, her rivers, and her whole red brother
and hid in his clothes
Tarabina of mint and thyme
And a Damascene night..
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
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