And you…

And those who…

like us—

are no longer guided to the land.

And she,

 whose cup of coffee betrayed her on the way.

And she,

 who, in her well,

clings to a straw to rise above.

We will rejoice in the pecks of the bleeding youth—

upon the mirrors of your hearts,

as we fall amidst the clamour of the windmills.
We shall tuck the wind beneath our arms,

where our walls stand in the wilderness.

And we go to the trees—sipping their rustle,

Which heals us from silence,

at the doors of the blades—

fluttering through the turning, the cloud and the word.
We shall craft air balloons to carry our misery.

From your bliss, brimming with gunpowder,

raise you high—even higher,

to the very last drop,

to those whose hopes are severed,

to joy itself,

to the unknown.
We shall wound the shepherds’ flutes—

the voices and images long settled,

and the hush of crocodiles,

with wings of desire, broken;

with honey fermenting in our captive neighing—

struggling to sleep.
We shall have passion for the absurdity of death,

like how you bare your damp daggers to the tender,

fettered youth adrift in his thirties,

his skin splitting open at the brush of girls’ jeans,

and the juice of sin, with a lemon twist.
We shall ascend the highest peak of your eternal autumn.

We shall cast off the last piece of our ashes on the path.

We shall twist the necks of language

within its unwavering vaginal sanctuary:

And we shall cast—

 the “s” of life,

 the “s” of death,

 the shadow of the girl,

and the remnants of the crumbs,

upon the passers-by,

who…
Free is the mulberry leaf.

An Arabic jasmine—in the autumn coat.

A boisterous dream in the toil.

The waves are tossing and turning,

While the lovers…Alone— happy in their own woods.



Note: This poem was originally written by Dr Noufal Nayouf in Arabic, and translated into English by Renata with consent.

In Arabic, “seen=س” and “sawfa=سوف” refer to procrastination/future act. Therefore, I have translated both as “s”.