I hacked my poetry on sorrows 

So it wept

And I lived mourning my luck

 Whenever it lamented 

And I was a fire for poetry 

Lit by it

And I gave it 

From my conscience the ember and the firewood

With all hatred 

I shield the night that slaps me

And I found no reason for the slaps of sleep 

I want 

- By God - 

To rest from my anxiety

And from worries 

That spread in my blood angrily 

Do they seek my wounds

To get drunk from them!?

And does my weeping

Become for them a melody!?

Shall I rest on his pains and fear!?

And delight the people

Who lie in their laughter!?

Does the universe rejoice when anguished by his sadness!?

And push the creatures to move forward

Those who fled!?

Does he play the tune

Who’s fingers were paralyzed!?

And the olive squeezer

Gives his lord grapes to drink!?

How can the tormented gift them their happiness!?

And how does he turn some dust into gold!?

Woe to me, I who am lost and missing

We congratulate

The blow of calamities

Until my age was disturbed 

So part of me spent the night lamenting me  

With a rhyme

Like one who smelled in the glow of clouds a breeze!! 

I dragged my sorrow towards the bottom 

In a fit

And I did not know that I

Had failed in it 

Until it became clear to me that I went to

A direction other than mine 

And I rejected what approached 

So I returned alone 

No feet carry me

I float on a river of longing 

With yearning for the Lord 

Leave me alone 

- O world - 

I am a fool

Behaving like a child,

But in youth, a lover!

 Omar Hazaa