Dear cousins, dear friends
Not to be ominous if I say the truth
To every poem I had brought
To the mistaken, if I make
My country, my wound my sorrow my distain
Nevertheless to what they say or move
My bear chlamydeous of brain and obstacles
Still hurt the onerous stab in my chest
But the enemy work not to build the ruin
In Gaza or everywhere in homeland
Iraq still trumps the victory you expect
But needs the help of Arab doeskin of strength
Still I were you in the dip of midnight
Nor the grief nor the wilderness
To Gaza to my slim, body weak
The dawn ever will be detached
The dawn every day has shone
I write only by my sword of ink
The pen that I have drip in pain
To whom have the distorted minds
To the girls still busy in their bosoms
To the aim to the welcome days
To the nest of my homelands
What could do these lines?
Only the bizarre of gloomy frustration
Burden and horrible afternoon
In my garden of snowy birds
The shadowy line will not move