Poetry sad and strong

A poem of sadness by Nizar Qabbani

Your love taught me to grieve

I have been needing it for ages

For a woman who makes me sad

Of a woman I cry in her arms

like a sparrow..

For a woman.. collect my parts

Fragments of broken crystal

Teach me your love.. madam

worst habits

Teach me to open my cup

A thousand times a night

And try apothecary medicine..

And knocked on the door of fortune tellers..

Teach me.. get out of my house..

To sweep the sidewalks

I chase your face.

In the rain, in the lights of cars..

And I'm chasing your nose...

even.. even..

in advertisement sheets.

teach me your love..

How do I wander..hours

In search of gypsy poetry

All the gypsies envy him

In search of a face..for a voice..

It is all faces and sounds

Your love brought me in.. my lady

Cities of Sorrows..

And I did not enter before you

Cities of Sorrows.

I never knew..

That tear is human

That man is without sorrow

human memory..

teach me your love..

To act like a boy

to paint your face..

With chalk on the walls..

And on the sails of fishermen

on the bells..

on the crosses

teach me your love..

How love changes the map of time..

I know that when I love...

The earth stops spinning

Your love taught me things..

It was never taken into account

I read children's stories.

I entered the palaces of the kings of the elves

And I dreamed that you would marry me

Sultan's daughter.

Those eyes are clearer than the waters of the bays

Those lips.. are more delicious than pomegranate blossom

And I dreamed that I kidnapped her

like knights...

And I dreamed that I would give it to her

Pearl and coral collars..

Your love taught me, my lady, what a delirium

Teach me how life passes..

The Sultan's daughter does not come.

teach me your love..

How I love you in all things

In the bare tree..

In dry yellow leaves

In the rainy weather.. in the air..

In the smallest cafe..

In the evening, we drink our black coffee.

Your love taught me to shelter..

For hotels that have no names

Churches that have no names

And cafes that have no names

teach me your love..

How the night magnifies the sorrows of strangers..

Teach me.. how to see Beirut

woman..the tyrant of temptation..

A woman.. gets dressed every evening

Your most beautiful fashion

And spray perfume.. on her breasts

For sailors..and princes..

teach me your love..

To cry without crying

Teach me how to sleep grief

Like a legless boy..

In (Al Raouche) and (Al Hamra) roads..

Your love taught me to grieve..

I have been needing it for ages

For a woman.. makes me sad

For a woman.. I cry in her arms..

like a sparrow..

For a woman collecting my parts..

Fragments of broken crystal.

The poem of the poet Ali Mahmoud Taha

I renewed my dreams and my nights

So do you have a talk about my patience

Oh Kaaba for my fantasies and silo

I recited my verses in its shade for goodness

Love has the first poems I chanted

And for beauty, it is my first message

You have the valley of my dreams and I stood to see

Spectrum of incidents go after the tragedy

I live alone on the side of the rock

I cry for the passed evening and nights

Nights have changed us after walking

And Al-Awadi succeeded us after fragmentation

Heart touched on a cold night

Your bright young nights are crying

And memories from the past he reads

Between fields and shores of lakes

The poem of the poet Ahmed Al-Maghout

O next spring from her eyes

O canary that travels in the moonlight

Take me to her

A love poem or a dagger stab

I am homeless and wounded

I love rain and the moaning of distant waves

From the depths of sleep I wake up

To think of a beautiful woman's knee I saw one day

To drink wine and lend poetry

Tell my love, Layla

With a drunken mouth and silky feet

I am sick and miss her

I see footprints on my heart

Damascus, the pink chariot of captives

I am lying in my room

I write, dream, and look at passers-by

From the heart of the high sky

I hear and pocket your naked flesh

Twenty years we have been knocking on your solid doors

And the rain falls on our clothes and our children

And our faces suffocated with a hurtful cough

It looks sad like farewell, yellow like tuberculosis

And the lonely prairie winds

Move our sides

To the alleys and bread sellers and spies

We gallop like wild horses on the pages of history

We cry and shiver

And behind our hooked feet

The wind and the orange spikes pass…

And we parted

And in your cold eyes

A storm of rushing stars wails

What a wrinkled mistress

The body covered with cough and jewels

you are mine

This nostalgia for you, hateful