اقتباسات من كتب سعدي يوسف sinan antoon peter money
سعدي يوسف , Sinan Antoon , Peter Money
غير متوفر وصف له.
Do they know that honey,
the universe,
and the end
are under the shirt?
– That pollen is quivering?
NoorBook
We will walk to God
barefoot:
our feet lacerated,
our limbs wounded.
You took to the trenches and said: war is more beautiful,
you shall never see my feet again.
I will seek the roads and taverns,
I am the blind poet.
The frowning autumn gives music for colors –
sunset gives me the opulence of roses
and I ask about you. I ask about you
but as a stung man does after something has afflicted his blood.
Peace be . . .
– I do not want your reply.
Cloves
Where is the scent of cloves coming from?
her hair?
armpit?
or her dress
thrown on the Tunisian rug?
From the third step in the house?
Layla
makes everything smell of cloves.
Layla
is the orchard when it’s wet.
She is
what the orchard breathes
when it’s watered at night.
Layla knows now
that I am drunk with the scent of cloves,
she stiches together my clouds
and then scatters them together
in a sky like a sheet
as she clasps me.
Layla
feels that my fingers are numb,
over the dunes she knows
my pulse is hers,
my water is hers.
Layla
leaves me sleeping,
rocking between clouds
and cloves.
