-1-
My pen,
Stop, my pen!
For the story of my life ended long ago.
And I fed it to the mirage.
And I wrote it down in lines,
Erased by the fingers of a wretched time.
-2-
And I no longer remember anything of it
Except two sentences:
I was born...
But I died before coming.
And like me, everyone dies!
-3-
Be careful and stop...
And don't touch the white notebook
For every page in it is sad
And every line has withered
And the bitter cold has shrunk them
And the frost has eaten away at them.
-4-
I came as a phantom...
And no eye saw me,
Or existence itself noticed my presence.
I departed like the clouds and birds
Migrating...
Departing towards the distant...
-5-
I pitched my tents...
And lived alone
Just me and contemplation in the depths
Of a deep valley
I whisper...
And worship a deaf lord
Whose tongue is tied
And whose eyes are a dry garden
My God is new to you
Do you not love all that is new?
Beirut Telegraph Newspaper, Issue 8230, August 10, 1970
**
