Saba

“وشفّاف
حضورك, فلا أدري إن كانت روحك تسكن
جسدك, أم أن جسدك يلبس روحك
ويشعّ لؤلؤة في عتمتي.يختلط عليّ
الشكل والجوهر,فأرى الشكل جوهراً
والجوهر شكل الكمال”
― محمود درويش, أثر الفراشة

“The days aren't discarded or collected, they are bees
that burned with sweetness or maddened
the sting: the struggle continues,
the journeys go and come between honey and pain.
No, the net of years doesn't unweave: there is no net.
They don't fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river.
Sleep doesn't divide life into halves,
or action, or silence, or honor:
life is like a stone, a single motion,
a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves,
an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metal
that climbs or descends burning in your bones.”
― Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day