I was one day the imam of the lovers

Do not ask me now about my feelings I hide afraid and if he wakes up he groans in my arms It was not my guess to shake hands with my killer or that people would tire of my songs that oppression would invade the blood of my poems or that they would crucify my poetry on the walls Can I rest on your banks for a moment I have become a human without a human why are you not the last of joys in my life and the last thing I sang of the songs perhaps you were the last thing the nightingale sang and its voice saddened me my fate is to live in an unjust time this is a time that is no longer like my time The author: Farouk Jweida number of pages: 86 Dar Al Shorouk