Khaled Najar Poems

And I return to the old house from travel.
Things regain their old taste
and their sad silence.
...

Like the sun under water
your face,
like time
...

When I was young
I walked to the gates of the South
listening to the gushing of springs at night.
When I was young and innocent
...

They stole my childhood from me
and my madness.
They stole my winds
...

In the windows of sand
in death
in a chalk-drawn circle
in castle walls
...