Masrah Tnayyil

A poem not yet published

... O heart, enough of your swaying — no hope is left you;
what would heal you of one ill flies from me in ills;
your wounds are many, fenced about with tears,
and the sobbings of your lament stray lost in a darkness of weariness.

O heart, no friend is left me in this world —
O companion of my life, I have no companion but you;
stay with me, and take me with you wherever you go;
O heart, we shall fling ourselves headlong across the open road.

O heart, O garden of plants in bloom,
all the earth is folding you in its wings,
rocking you with the lashes of a dream of dew —
how is it, then, that wounded tears still dazzle us?!

O heart, enough fluttering over the trails of absence —
your whole life, so, is wretchedness and torment;
yesterday you were laughter on the mouth of the meadows,
and today a desert wrapped in a cloak of fog.

O heart — your beatings, O my heart, are astray,
and I see you minded to leave this world;
yet you are a soul joined fast, that we might be joined together —
what is it that bewilders you, O heart of my bewilderment?!

O heart, comfort me at the bendings of the roads;
come, let us not linger, lest the sunset outrun us;
the world is all winds, and my lamp has gone out,
and no more, O my heart, will you pour forth these sweet perfumes.