Grief is the joy of a quake and slumberous acts,
It caresses the heart of the beloved as he speaks;
Grief is a mountain that I climb for the world to see,
My accursed fellowship is a remainder of fortune and lies.
...
I must wave my hands and flagella like an animal,
But theory coincides with theory and an animal cannot die.
I wave my hands in the direction of a man who believes,
His suddenness is an alacrity, a mobility, an agility.
...
I see him in power, awe has impressed my mind;
The buildings are erect, those stars are brighter than me.
As men bulldoze the economy there comes an arrival
That shakes the sheikh's hand and declares Unity.
...
The butterfly in the blessed sky looks up and sways,
Futile flight is a gesture of the polite, a moment of days.
I see cacti as we buy credible toys from the market-place,
Stinging is singing, like the crying dolls over my race.
...
Before the dawn, there was a war,
Each war was fought like this; a stranger twist
To the good old lie, spun by the one who wins.
...
A poet is discerning, he is of sport, he grasps finality,
A poet is distinguished in the extreme, by alacrity.
I have a bone, my poetry has a singular trait, and I laugh
...
My love is of the heavenly straits,
My authors labour nights and days;
Their writings fulfil and fill the hard
Ways of distress and mild release.
...
You must oppose me if I don't believe in God,
Too many drops fill the ocean as we speak,
Too many waves have struck the shores of your
Territory, for they rumble and concentrate for Him.
...
Your wisdom is not foolish like the wit of a fool who hits,
It caresses my wise chest, my hat and stagnant body.
If I were to be defined by the philosophers who love us,
Let the statement reverberate in the heavens and earth.
...
Why do I suffer everyday and sit silent from exhaustion?
When do tears try a little silence, from the heart and soul?
My authority is my blessing, his brotherhood stays an author,
But Allah is the Author Most Great! Allah will judge your soul!
...