Your eyes are fig trees at magic hour Or two balconies from wh | Thoughts Hub

Your eyes are fig trees at magic hour
Or two balconies from which the moon recedes
Your eyes when you smile are leafy vines
And the lights dance, like moons in a river
The paddle shakes him, and here is the magic hour
As if pulsating in their valleys, the stars
And you drown in a haze of translucent sorrow
Like the sea, the hands spread out over it in the evening
The warmth of winter and the shiver of autumn
And death, and birth, and darkness, and light;
So you wake up to fill my soul, the shiver of crying
And a brutal ecstasy embraces the sky
Like a child's ecstasy if he's afraid of the moon!
As if the arches of the clouds drink the clouds
And drop by drop it dissolves in the rain
And children sang in the vineyards,
And the silence of the birds tickled on the trees

The evening yawned, and the clouds were still
She wipes away her heavy tears.
As if a child was raving before he fell asleep:
That his mother--who woke up a year ago
He did not find it, then when he resorted to the question
They told him: "The day after tomorrow you will come back..."
You must come back
And the comrades whispered that she was there
In the side of the hill sleeps the sleep of the dead
She sheds its soil and drinks the rain
Like a sad fisherman collecting nets
And he curses water and pot
And the singing scatters where the moon sets.

Do you know which sadness the rain sends?
And how gutters weep when it pours down?
And how the lonly feel lost in it?
Without end--like blood spilled, like hungry people,
Like love, like children, like the dead--it's rain!
And your eyeballs are floating with the rain
And across the streams flow wipe the lightning
The coasts with stars and oysters,
As if they care about sunrise
And the night draws on her from the blood of a blanket.
I shout to the stream: (Oh stream!
O bringer of the farthest, hope, and news!)
The echo returns as if whimpering:
(Oh lover
O Giver of life and death..)
I can almost hear the city resounding with thunder
He stores lightning in the plains and mountains
Even if men break their seal
The wind did not leave Thamud
In the valley of the impact
I can almost hear the fig trees drinking rain
And I hear the villages groaning, and the immigrants
They wrestle with oars and with castles,
Streams, storms and thunders, chanting:
There was hunger
The grain is sown during the harvest season
To satiate the crows and locusts
And grind the grain and the stone
A mill rotates in the fields around it are people.

How many tears we shed on the night of our departure
Then we got sick--fearing that we might be blamed--for the rain
And since we were little, it was the sky
Cloudy in the winter and it rains,
And every year--when the soil is overgrown--we starve
A year has passed and my soul is not hungry.
In every drop of rain
Red or yellow from the flower embryo
And every tear from the hungry and the naked
And every drop of the blood of slaves is spilled
It is a smile waiting for a new smile
Or a nipple that is swollen in the mouth of the newborn
In the young world of tomorrow, giver of life!

The spirit of gravity will be flooded with rain
I shout at the stream: (Oh stream!
O bringer of the farthest, hope, and the news!)
The echo returns
as if whimpering:
(Oh lover
O Giver of life and death..)
And the stream scatters from its many gifts,
On the land: brine foam and gems
And what remains are the bones of a miserable drowned man
Among the emigrants, he kept drinking bad
From the abyss of the river and the resolution,
And here, a thousand snakes drink nectar
From a flower that the Nile nurtures with dew.
And I hear the echo
Ringing in the stream:
In every drop of rain
Red or yellow from the flower embryo
And every tear from the hungry and the naked
And every drop of the blood of slaves is spilled
It is a smile waiting for a new smile
Or a nipple that is swollen in the mouth of the newborn
In the young world of tomorrow, the giver of life
And the rain falls...