Let the breeze pour colors into the waiting blossoms unlock the warehouses where those colors are stored Oh Love now return so the promised springtime may finally begin There is weeping in the prisons friends say something just speak today if only for the sake of God let her name pass through a cage From the corner of your lips let the dawn begin at least for once and let it be fragrant the night which will descend when you open your hair My heart is poor it needs no reminding but it holds all the wealth of longing on hearing your name I'll always return once again become the one to share your sorrow Whatever the pain I endured its every moment but Oh Night of Sorrow you weren't diminished my tears made sure you would remain a legend even in the afterlife She goes to the office of desires to see who's still listed in the ledger of lovers we are already there waiting our shirts ripped to threads in our hands those threads (proof that we were faithful) tied stubbornly into knots After farewell Oh Faiz nothing could hold you back nothing at any stop was worthy of desire from her street you walked straight to the district of executions you climbed the steps to the gallows lost yourself in the hangman's arms.

The only language of loss left in the world is Arabic. These words werer said to me in a language not Arabic.

Ancestors--you've left me a plot in the family graveyard-- Why must I look, in your eyes, for prayers in Arabic?

Majnoon, his clothes ripped, still weeps for Laila. O, this is the madness of the desert, his crazy Arabic.

Who listens to Ishmael? Even now he cries out: Abraham, throw away your knives, recite a psalm in Arabic.

From exile Mahmoud Darwish writes to the world: You'll all pass between the fleeting words of Arabic.

The sky is stunned, it's become a ceiling of stone. I tell you it must weep. So kneel, pray for rain in Arabic.

At an exhibition of miniatures, such delicate calligraphy: Kashmiri paisleys ties into the golden hair of Arabic!

The Koran prophesied a fire of men and stones. Well, it's all now come true, as it was said in the Arabic.

When Lorca died, they left the balconies open and saw: his qasidas bradided, on the horizon, into knots of Arabic.

Memory is no longer confused, it has a homeland-- Says Shammas: Territorialize each confusion in a graceful Arabic.

Where there were homes in Deir Yassein, you'll see dense forests-- That village was razed. There's no sign of Arabic.

I too, O Amichai, saw the dresses of beautiful women And everything else, just like you, in Death, Hebrew, and Arabic.

They ask me to tell them what Shahid means-- Listen: it means "The Beloved" in Persian, "witness" in Arabic