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The Snow of Mounts


I sit in the very same place

my heart ablaze with yearning

my eyes captivated by the long hallway.

In the very same place

I memorize the faces of passers-by

then let them slip away

like sand through my fingers.


Suddenly his face is thrust among them

and my thoughts stutter.

Do I have to keep him in the cell

or must I open the door for him

to leave?


When I say: I will be careful

my body temperature rises

and the air in the room chills.

As for him, he disappears

between fever

and apprehension.

I think I will be unable

to forget him

yet I go into the alleys like a light feather

with my heart radiant as the snow

of the mounts.

Not Even the Light from the Window


In my hand, there is a fistful of our garden’s flowers,

Jasmine and Narcissus bloom

in the night dew.

Near the bed, there is another bouquet

I put there days ago


no inquisitive soul pays it any attention,

not even the light from the window

that claims to have affection for me.


Translated by Issa J. Boullata

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