I am the traveller in the passages of Today
And in the hideaways of Tomorrow.
I search for soul’s peace in my home port
And a small boat’s door
Into which I can carve
The stories of those who are absent.
I am you
In your loudness,
In your madness
And in your memories.
I am the night,
The wisdom in your poems
And the hope
That you seek in every dawn.
I am half human (and the rest is already ashes),
I am a thousand years of melancholy
And a smile at the end of the way,
Although I have never reached the destination.
The one that you read
Is merely a lost word in a poem.
I seek myself
In every dream that passes me by,
And the more I seek, the less I find.
I am like you.
I am exactly like you.
Perhaps I am you.
Perhaps you are me.
I am God in the heart of a martyr’s mother.
And a violin whose voice
Takes the heaviness from the oud.
I am the winter and the rain
In the old streets of Damascus.
I am hell and paradise.
I can be as you want me:
I am life.
