Apr 7, 2014
Green Tunisia, I have come to you as a lover On my brow, a rose and a book For I am the Damascene whose profession is passion Whose singing turns the herbs green A Damascene moon travels through my blood Nightingales . . . and grain . . . and domes From Damascus, jasmine begins its whiteness And fragrances perfume themselves with her scent From Damascus, water begins . . . for wherever You lean your head, a stream flows And poetry is a sparrow spreading its wings Over Sham . . . and a poet is a voyager...
Nizar Qabbani
