The Body Poem by Qassim Haddad

A body grants flirtation room for delights.
There is no pulse unless we are there
We caress the desire in the paradise of night and we fill the jar with silver.
A body is capable of dueling and attacking
There is no despair to hold back the victorious attack,
and nothing but the sand can read its own message.
There we spell out:
Tobacco rubs ashes on the wound,
a bow of muscles impatiens the blood.

translated by: Bassam Frangieh