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,
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