- A tale of absence -

Thy morn, a sweetness beyond compare,

Thy scent, a fragrance, a perfume rare.

When thou art gone, my heart doth grieve,

My tears, they flow, my soul doth heave.

The moon, it hides, no more to shine,

The narcissus, thy love, no more to twine.

I ve wandered far, my longing strong,

My nights, they brim with poetic song.

I return, alone, no friend in sight,

To speak to stars, that distant light.

Upon them, I shall pen my verse,

My love, my passion, in words immerse.

I ll draw them, for my heart s a tome,

Where thy fair image finds its home.

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A translation of my poem from Arabic.

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