The painting of words
Haroon ar-Rashid is tragic and bitter,
You don’t know such bitterness, sweetheart.
It’s as though I’m a lantern, beloved
When I cry no one looks at my tears.
Sex became a painkiller I frequented
But my crisis of sorrow went on.
And my love has become all the same,
Just like leaves in a forest resemble.
I can’t love any ant or a cloud
I’m unable to love even pebble.
I tried worshipping thousands of idols
And I’ve chosen the one of my self
The luck from your lips is useless for problems
That I have in my notes and diwans.
All the ways that we know are obstructed…
That’s where paintings of words
Meet the end.
Translated by ukranistani