poetry · Issue No. 3, March 1955 · p. 8
Tazakka
تزكا · ميشال طراد
For whom, my love, did you breathe
the scent of the rosebud? Breathe mine —
did no one tell you
that my mouth is a jullanar flower?
The thorns have wounded it, and now
this perfume drips blood.
لِمْنْ حبيبي شَمْ
زُرّ الورد شَمّي
وما زَكَّرو بْتَنّي
تَمّي أنا جلنار
جَرْوَحو الشوك وصار
هَ العطر يقطر دَمْ
ميشال طراد
Translation and transcription are machine-made and may contain errors. See it on the page.