No road leads me to Jerusalem
No road save words of dust.
Heaven has its paths
and those I have met
I can no more see their faces there.
Let peace come to the wandering
Almost near to silence.
Here I am a tremor resurfacing
I almost created a language from dust.

I saw the road on the page of a book
I witnessed songs bursting out from Cordoba
and crossing over Fez
Which of the ladders would receive
those who arrive ?
Which of hands would leave
the mark of its blazing fire
between one door and another ?
Do footsteps feel the want
of a melodic epic?
of a harmonic elegy?
Echoes entwine together
Passages from mountains come up in confusion
concerning what I am: it is from here
and my hand drew near to see you.

Flying birds remind me of migration
Expressive sun is the flutter of a win
that also reminds me of remnants
set on fire
And winds deliver me to exile.
So who'll divulge to me the secrets
of the roads?
Who'll suffer in the wavering
of the morning?
I heard al the languages of the road
repeated by the tongues of its stones:
' Has my infinity felt bored with eternity?'
Here lies are before me
an arch, an ear of corn and a form.
Passengers let out cries,
is the body, perhaps, bored of the form?
I have sought forever to raise your arches
to heaven
I have come to you, worn out
down from the lower depths of this world
carried by the remnants:
a night
stars of the Dead Sea
a silence that I am following
and shepherds in the time of death
None is triumphal, except you
you I am now watching
through your throbbing pulses.

Translated by Noel Abdulahad