’alone they remain, like the elderberry flowers,
alone they harvest the leaves of time,
they shut down the forest, they remain like winter,
knocking on my doors, on my doors.
oh, time.
oh, the weeds sprawling over these walls.
i lit the rose of the night over my book.
the dovecote is fenced and high.
the pigeons fled; i remained alone, all alone.
you, who are waiting for the snow, don’t you want to come back?
i cry out for them in the winter, in the hope that they listen.
alone they remain, like these old clouds,
alone, their faces and the darkness of the road,
they’re crossing the woods,
and their hands, like the winter,
they knock with their tears on my doors.
oh, time,
of the ages of the weeds’ shadow on these walls,
from before when trees became tall,
i light up the lanterns and wait for my friends.
they passed by, they left; i stayed at my door, all alone.
you, who are going to the snow, don’t you want to come back?
i cry out for them in the winter, in the hope that they listen.
you, who are going to the snow, don’t you want to come back?
i cry out for them in the winter, in the hope that they listen.’
talal haidar, wahdon