Leaving at my window his tears and his concerns.Īnd where is the vastness of our large house,Īnd where is the stairwell laughing at the tickles of blooms, With the face of Damascus being like a bird,Īnd picking, with a gentle beak, at my fingers.Īs if the orchards are still perfuming our conscience.Īnd here is sorrow bringing me his wrapped gifts. To the lilac climbing bush the neighbor’s window. To a house that taught us love and mercy. She looked for him in the corners of his room. He used to invite her to his morning coffee. I became acquainted with their tired civilization.Ī Lady that hides for me in her purse a sugar candy. I became acquainted with the women of Europe, My sorrows are like flocking birds looking for a grain field in season. There can’t be anything more painful than being thousands of miles away from the blessing called ‘mother’.įive Letters to My Mother – Nizar Qabbani It just touched my heart and wrenched my soul. Right now, at this particular instant of time, there is nothing more dear to me than this poem of a Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani.
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