I walk... and behind me, shadows are violated
With their black lines, a question wanders:
Does the eye of poetry sleep soundly,
Its lids full,
While calamities strut upon its lashes?
The wailing grows weary of our lips, as if
From the very beginning,
Confusion has enveloped us.
Our lives are held hostage
By the preservation of positions
Of which a deceitful,
Self-serving leader reigns supreme.
Neglect yawns within our pulses,
So, neglect comforts us with its slumber.
We slumber... as if dawn were our enemy,
And toil a terrifying illusion and a calamity.
We have expertly ruminated on our silence,
So, it has grown ever more monstrous.
With our silence, actions go unheard.
Production within us has not been heard,
So, strength has waned,
And hopes have waned with it.
We suffer when happiness
Spreads across our lands,
And we groan when the right embraces the left.
Our virtues are endless... for one vice recedes,
And another descends upon us.
The purity of women is a tale;
If you tell it, beds and men will laugh at you.
In our Arab East, a rebel rises,
So that you may be guided.
With its light, generations
But it, with malice in its steps,
Captivates the conscience
And what the family desires
No revolution in the East has ever shone its light
Except that it was swallowed up
In the darkness by the measure
Our leaders, the path of treachery is their path
To lead us towards misguidance, misguidance
If they resolve, then treachery is in their resolve
And if they speak, then their saliva is cunning
Wretched is our time... For our land
In times of hardship, it has forsaken it Heroes
O poet whose words were crafted by God
Rebuke... so that words may restrain your people
You are strong in expression and resolve
And to you the evening gazes the heart
**
