If it must,
I want a court of which there is no doubt
And say what I have:
I left at the open hour, without doors or locks,
A bitter wind cut my neck,
So I hid my head between the collarbone and the neck. just in case,
The thick woolen swaddle was sufficient for what was to come.
Things have always guaranteed us, we are innocent of mistrust...

Yes,
We often invent and deny ourselves.
I am a man who is not easily reconciled.
in bad faith or in good faith,
As letters reconcile in words,
I disagreed with myself before you disagreed with me.
I'm not good at spinning and turning like the earth does,
And as the moon pretends...
I left without regret a city that betrayed me and whose love did not satisfy my heart.
My veins were not satisfied from the hours of its raging night with the myths and legends of the river.
And it is time for me to paint the antidote flower on my forehead,
I paint myself as shadows paint themselves without a feather,
She brushes her past on her present until the very end.

I do not deny the reasons that brought me here,
It could be a vile, fabricated, purified convention!
I do not intend to appeal the consequences of me,
Everything is inevitably resumed:
The court, the ruler and me
ready to drink the cup of poison,
On the law of the ancestors...

I confess
That there is no reasonable life that dispenses with its dreams,
And I practiced seduction
And the rituals of interpretation of signs
reading the vision,
not to avoid fate,
But to bear the sufferings coming with a bitter illness.
When time blooms metaphorical derivatives
What does the being say about the tandem of opposites and their disintegration?
When the future reveals its nakedness
And we, then, surrender
The wind wipes our faces out of compassion for the remnants of the years?
misery,
Only the future celebrates the remains,
He awaits our already secured belated vows...

And I confess
I spend too much time counting the stars at noon,
I was so profuse in coloring the sky that the sun no longer had a sky.
And spend a long stay in the heart of the Palm
Until the demons no longer have a place...
My father often warned me against extravagance in something
When he was drunk and sang until the morning.
For God's sake, how does one spend his days without extravagance in grinding them between comfort and comfort!
I knew a man who was extravagant in piety.
When death came to him, he was overwhelmed with fear!
But let's come to an understanding here that we have arrived,
before any court admitted,
And for what?
I want a court of which there is no doubt!

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The sculpture in the photo that acompanies the poem is Amir Khatib's creation.