1. nothing in the morning's majesty, except youthful blood which flows with the sky . And in my prophetic forehead the Earth is an endless flock of birds. Coming without seasons, coming with neither flowers nor fields, with a fountain of dust in my eyes, I feed on my eyes. I live, driving my life in waiting for an ark which sinks to the bottom as if dreaming or wandering, or going never to return. 2. I write my verses on the earth nothing but the wisdom of dust. with the wood of the chair and the discarded cigarette butts. I sit in waiting for my forgotten rendezvous. 3. I want to kneel down, to pray to the broken-winged owl, I want to pray to death, to the plague. I want to burn in my incense my ink and ink pot. to anything that knows no prayer. 4. Beirut didn't rise in my path, Beirut didn't bloom. And here are my fields. Beirut didn't fruit. filling my fields. alone with fruits. From the setting of the sun to its rising, I cross Beirut, but see it not, inhabit Beirut and see it not. together with daylight, we go ___________________ Songs of Mihyar the Damamscene Selected and translated by Kamal Abu-Deeb