|
Don’t trifle with the
ashes of hers,
A sheer blackness she
makes out of you,
For a time that burns
desire,
When passion does not
lie on the alert for you.
Do, hence, heal him
With a sadness
That makes out of your
artery
A trench
That saps the gleam of
your water.
(4)
O’ Day of ASHOURA!
O’ Day of ASHTAR!
You single out virgins
Amid your fire
And subjugation,
To you they come
With caste,
Step by step,
You, thence, give them
a taste
Of the mystery of loss
And them you rend
With the wedding gown. |
(1)
Who inherits
From the mind
The smile of mine,
And the savagery of
pain?
Who bears
The blade of my dream
From above a bolder,
Inheriting the cruelty
of the deep
And the petulance of
cloud?
You expose me to the
world,
A secret
That takes leave
In the case of
strangers.
(2)
I have searched
For the vigor of my
sadness
In the
Case of oblivion.
(3)
Don’t draw near
The vigor of sadness,
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