Your mum,
How many
Silver statues
She slept with,
Intoxicated,
To replace your saliva
With silver water!
Always to the left,
Behind the first
Fold of rose,
There is a silver shine.
As though gods
And the gathering of conjurors
Bewitched,
Till numbing,
Whenever your half wetted
Smile,
With drops of silver water,
Radiates.
Written in Arabic in Sydney,30/11 / 1997. Translated by the poet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem