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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.

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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

and

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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