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The Burning Flute

Poem No.: 82 النص العربي: لا يوجد


How many times my love

as the night covers the earth

I wander alone, and in the dark

no one complains but me.

I make the tears a tune

and I make the potery a flute

And would a wreck responds

that I inflamed in my ardent love.

Fire stirs in it

and the wind blows away the rest.

How miserable is the flute between

destiny and between fates

He sings and sadly sings

returning my complaints.

Sympathetic from our kept secrets

on the love of innermost secrets

Until a shadow appears.

I have known him in my youth

He comes close to me and he comes close

to the lips of my mouth

And suddenly my dream disapears

and my eyes wake up

And though I went listening and listening

I wasn't familiar but with the echo.


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