To my wife Alaa, the most precious girl in the world.
Thank you for everything!
--
What can I do?
If words cannot speak,
what I wish to say,
your love is like,
the summer's breeze,
or maybe like,
an autumn's day.
Or maybe like,
a child's dream,
which will not stop,
and will not sway...
الى آلاء، اغلى ما في الكون
لا تحزني لعتابي...
فالحب لا لا ينتهي،
بعبارة، بسحابة،
لا ينتهي كسراب...
I miss you,
and I wonder,
where you are.
You're my rising sun,
my morning star.
My every dream,
and hope for tomorrow.
Where I can live,
without a trace,
of sorrow...
I look up high,
upon the star.
And then I wonder,
where you are.
Who is Mai? Mai Ziadah, anyone acquainted with Khalil Gebran may know her. She really means nothing to me, but I came to know of her through someone else. She's simply a symbol I use.
Never wanted to publicly put these poems online, but perhaps it is the only way to simply let go, by making them so less sacred than I had once held them to be.
How do I maintain perfection?
In a world of imperfection?
How do I stay a child,
whose life is all affection?
I stood today,
and wondered.
And thought,
and ever pondered.
When had this blessed curse come down on me?
I wish that I could see what has never been seen.
To walk on the ethereal path so ever green.
To know what has never been known,
to see what has never been seen.
To know what has never been known,
the tales that have been long so told,
it seems just like a dream.
It clings me with the firmest hold,
or so it seems,
just like a dream.
