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A Woman Made of Dew

A Woman Made of Dew Arabic Poem By: Falah Al-Shabender* Translated into English By Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk) =============================== From the vastness of my heart, My thought, the embers of my blood, And the child in me, That is a child bigger than me, comes love, As pastoral personas gather with the wind and rain. O you, the good spontaneous one! From here is the passage; A floating feather is the twilight opening windows of light for doves driven to the uttermost flight; And from the arrogance of wishful thinking Stems a big, Very big, Dream! O my paper kite! You, the good spontaneous one! From here is the passage; Water, In any tension within a hard rock, Is a being aspires for a free herb; Weep ...... in order to be! From here is the passage; She is a woman made of dew Trickling into silence as dew, Light seeping through a drop of dew, Clear sky pouring dew, She’s that too! But my thirst is, A couple of lips or closer to the dew! From here is the passage, O moment of fragrance... Like a little bird The twilight slips away And I get bewildered… She passes through me; Her shirt tackles the wind intimately; The most delectable thing in it is .. The secret, The fruit suspended in it, And we picked it, a rendezvous! The words sweat; Only if they could be the open arms To gather her shyness; Oh, how I desire your shyness! As she fidgeted, hiding inside her ring... A circle within a circle.. She portrayed her hand a cup, She saw what she saw, and thus yielded. In ecstasy, I close my eyes, Your face is my first surprise. O my dream of the first time, My lady... Forgive my delusion, my insanity, and this haughtiness; Your eyes are the impossible, I love you all that should be, And despite all of that could be; Like the Sun, And like freedom, I turn, and she turns; Tightened to break loose, I breathe her, Seek the silk of her nakedness, And overly indulge in kissing; She knows this is my triumph, A gap she realizes, as an enduring wound, Seeking the calm of goodness in my touch. I turn and she turns, Wrapped in my haze, The wretch’s fair maiden Sighs on my bosom and whispers softly: Oh, how horribly handsom is my prince! Grant me hunger, And all the Love! -------------------- Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk) USA February 21, 2010 Revised: July 4, 2012 *Falah Al-Shabender is a poet from Iraq Original text in Arabic:

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