DESERT OF THE BEDROOM

Khalid Khashan Translated by me John Smith
What about her hand?
Which gives up everything it carries for the kids,
To extend to shake my hand,
Isn t it love?
Of your vices, you do not like the drunk
As coming home late at night
Innocently as children
With a pair of small scissors
Make of the rim of my fascination with you
A swarm of butterflies,
Let them fly up at your knees every day
Whenever you go to the café, to friends, to poetry
Soon everything will end up,
I will remember you as a war passed by my heart from
Here
Every day I train how to hug you
Alone in the desert of the bedroom
Alone with no guide
All the love I have piled up in your absence is for you
For you alone
Now after being deserted by all those we love
What will we do with this love?
It no longer suits anyone.
Who said," I am alone?"
Today I saw my hands
Shake each other
And I was a third friend in between
Who said," I am alone"?
No trace of anyone is here
To follow, oh, passing heart
Your skies are already folded
What are you waiting, then?
Pack your women
And your hand too
So as not to wave for anyone any more,
Erase your finger---print---s on the walls
As you leave
Blood- stained, the bird of exile fell
At the door of the foreigner,
Smearing the whiteness of the poem.

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