Ibrahim Naji

((1898–1953))

The Burning Flute


How many times my love
as the night covers the earth
I wander alone, and in the dark
no one complains but me.
I make the tears a tune
and I make the potery a flute
And would a wreck responds
that I inflamed in my ardent love.
Fire stirs in it
and the wind blows away the rest.
How miserable is the flute between
destiny and between fates
He sings and sadly sings
returning my complaints.
Sympathetic from our kept secrets
on the love of innermost secrets
Until a shadow appears.
I have known him in my youth
He comes close to me and he comes close
to the lips of my mouth
And suddenly my dream disapears
and my eyes wake up
And though I went listening and listening
I wasn't familiar but with the echo.

Submitted: Friday, September 06, 2013
Edited: Friday, September 06, 2013

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