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My Work - PoetryWithout Even a SanchoO! "Wajd" .. O! "Waddah" .. O! "Wiaam" *If only you knew how, when night falls, My sleep is lost in its darkness And the ghosts spring out Dancing over my corpse till day break O my cherished loved ones O! "Wajd" .. O! "Wiaam" .. O! "Waddah" ****** How does an old warrior hope To invade a foreign land Travelling on a grey, sick horse Well past its prime With no companion save a broken sword With a dented edge? I would that this Don Quixote Could take a short rest Before passing away. If only I could mix the words, Dip my brush in their colours And paint, Then this sadness in my heart would wither and die It would bring its own death And in its place foliage would spring And flowers would blossom But I live here bonded to misery All of them gone and I am left behind Only desolation remains All of them gone: Kinsmen, friends, callers Even my beloved Muse ***** Oh! "Wiaam" .. "Waddah" .. "Wajd" Sleeplessness has drained me Remoteness has consumed me And Longing and Love. Cardiff, 1985 |
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