“Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
fool who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter. ”
―
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
fool who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter. ”
―
“Well, now
If little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you
Little by little
If suddenly you forget me
Do not look for me
For I shall already have forgotten you
If you think it long and mad the wind of banners that passes through my life
And you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots
Remember
That on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms
And my roots will set off to seek another land”
― Selected Poems
If little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you
Little by little
If suddenly you forget me
Do not look for me
For I shall already have forgotten you
If you think it long and mad the wind of banners that passes through my life
And you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots
Remember
That on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms
And my roots will set off to seek another land”
― Selected Poems
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”
― 100 Love Sonnets
― 100 Love Sonnets
“إنسان .. أيا انسان ما أجهلك
ما أتفهك فى الكون وما أضألك
شمس وقمر وسدوم وملايين نجوم
وفاكرها يا موهوم مخلوقة لك؟
عجبى”
― رباعيات صلاح جاهين
ما أتفهك فى الكون وما أضألك
شمس وقمر وسدوم وملايين نجوم
وفاكرها يا موهوم مخلوقة لك؟
عجبى”
― رباعيات صلاح جاهين
“أي شيء في العيد أهدي إليكِ؟...يا ملاكي وكل شيء لديكِ
أسواراً؟ أم دملجاً من نضارٍ...لا أحب القيود في معصميكِ
أم خموراً؟ وليس في الأرض خمر...كالذي تسكبين من عينيكِ
أم ورداً؟ وليس أجمل عندي...كالذي قد نشقت من خديكِ
أم عقيقاً كمهجتي يتلظى...والعقيق الثمين في شفتيك
ليس عندي شيء أعز من الروح...وروحي مرهونة بين يديكِ ”
― الأعمال الشعرية الكاملة
أسواراً؟ أم دملجاً من نضارٍ...لا أحب القيود في معصميكِ
أم خموراً؟ وليس في الأرض خمر...كالذي تسكبين من عينيكِ
أم ورداً؟ وليس أجمل عندي...كالذي قد نشقت من خديكِ
أم عقيقاً كمهجتي يتلظى...والعقيق الثمين في شفتيك
ليس عندي شيء أعز من الروح...وروحي مرهونة بين يديكِ ”
― الأعمال الشعرية الكاملة
Basma’s 2025 Year in Books
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