Translated by Khatchig Mouradian It is raining, son, the autumn is wet, Just like the damp eyes of poor beguiled love, Go and shut the door, close the window too Then come to my side, let’s sit together In silence supreme. It is raining, son, Does it sometimes rain in your soul as well? Does your heart get cold? And do you shiver When you think about the bright, bygone sun...
Dhour Shoueir(Lebanon), August 1937 Translated by Khatchig Mouradian Your pain unfolds from the past, oh light-shaded pine tree…Barely risen from the ground you have lost your maiden branch, the trace of which Appears on you dry and sprout as a broken arm. Then countless other branches succeeded it, And once they thought your trunk had grown enough Allowed your upper knots to sprout and thicken, and silently adorn themselves with transparent hair....