I have nothing but a burning hunger,

And words so defeated by grief,

Shattered in the bitter throat.

Every time I prepared myself for kisses,

Adieus were waved to the grave.

 

I have nothing but you, oh, Piercing Silence!

My grief does not die.

My grief does not diminish.

Every time I prepared myself for hope,

The past scorned forgiveness.

 

I have nothing but pain,

And the fading glow of life.

Regret has pushed it away from me,

Splitting it.

Part of it died alone.

Part of it is untouchable like a ghost.

Every time I prepared myself for joy,

Death prepared a massacre for my spirit.

 

Poem by Ahmad Omar Zaabar

Translation by Myriam Rizkallah

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