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O My Country, Continue Your Epic Whining - III

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Lamentations of the Departed from Andalusia

I know that my heart will not stay here long
Between mountains
It was stolen by settlements
And a sad poem
Sung by rain.

I know the fruits of the Nakba
It was a hair
Bees clap for him
And birds
Dancing with joy
Nightingale
He hid his celebration
Shiny poet.

The poem did not enter the ribs
The loss was lost in a two-sided love story
What entered the bars
Those who left the dust of years
And they moved towards Jasmine.

I know my heart will not stay here
He is leaving with a mobile singer
Floating memories
And forget the wheat fields
He gets into nostalgia
And forget the prayer of the absent
He writes on the water
Lamentations of the departed from Andalusia.

You are heavy, night
Heavy when roosting above my ribs
Heavy when you ask to turn the grief
Come back
Whenever you hear my intention to rejoice
She assassinates my dreams
The more my divisions are old
And the years of alienation age
And make a promise to dark
To curse my memories.

O sorrow ...
Oh sorrow
I know you hate crow's voice
And control the trees by bending
And to die by smiling
But you will not tame the doom that lay in my chest cave.

My chest will not stay here long
I will be absent
Shams Omri melted in a cup of morning tea
Spring will not defeat my obedience to pain
And whenever the sunset go away sunset
Little by little
Al-Bustan's enthusiasm for clouds
The nostalgia of bees for flowers.

Dew mail is slow
Memories slow
Dawn Mail
does not come.

I know what I do not know
And my share in the winter of the year
Less than the share of meadows and steppe
Less than a scar on the forehead of the mountain
More than pastoral wisdom granted my flock to the wolves
And mythical wailing.

I know wolves are a female lord
And the summer is uplifting
Lioness lives up to Assad
And the forest rises to a secret numbness that crosses its cells,
Every cruelty softens
Except the long night of my exile.

Lover wounds healed
Treachery wounds heal
The wounds of the clouds heal
My days wounds ... fountains.

As for my heart, I will not stay here long ...

© 2020 Hafiz Muhammad Adnan