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Marcel Khalife
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Houriyeh's instructions
I thought one day of leaving, but a sparrow landedon her hand and slept. It was enough that I fondle a grapevine in a hurry for her to know I was filled with wine. It was enough that I go early to bed for her to clearly see mysleep, and extend her night to guard it. Enough for her to know my days hover around her and in her view.
My mother counts my twenty digits from afar. She combs me with her golden lock and searches in my underwear for foreign women, and darns the hole in my sock. I didn't grow up on her hands as we had wished: she and I, we parted ways by the marble slope, clouds loomed over us, and over some goats that inherit the place.
There is no time around you, mother, for sen- timental talk. You knead the afternoon with basil and bake for sumac the rooster's crest. I know what wrecks your punctured peacock Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com heart since you've been expelled twice from paradise. Our entire world changed, so our voices also changed. Even the greeting between us fell like a button over the sand, echoless. Say: Good morning! Say anything for life to grant me her dalliance.
We meet only as farewell at the crossroads of speech. For example, she says to me: Marry any stranger more beautiful than the neighborhood girls, and believe no woman but me. And don't burn to illuminate your mother, that's her lovely task. Don't long for a rendezvous with the dew. Be realistic like the sky. And dash like a colt into life. And be who you are wherever you are. And carry no more than your heart's burden.
My mother lights up Canaan's final stars and tosses her shawl in my final poem!
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