Nizar Qabbani

1923 - 1998 / Damascus / Syria

School Of Love

Your love taught me how to grieve,
And for centuries I needed a woman to make me grieve,
I needed a woman
To make me cry on her shoulders like a bird,
I needed a woman to collect my pieces like broken glass.
Oh my lady, your love taught me the worst of my habits,
It taught me how to drink coffee a thousand times every night,
It taught me how to visit doctors and ask soothsayers,
It taught me to go out to scan the streets,
To seek your face in the rain and in the lights,
To chase your shadow in the faces of strangers,
To hunt your aura even in the newspapers!
Your love showed me the sadness city,
Which I have never entered ere you,
I have never known that the tear is humane,

And the human without tears is just a memory!
Your love taught me
How to draw your face on the walls with chalk like kids,
It taught me how love can change the map of times,
It taught me that when I love,
The earth stands still!
Your love showed me what hallucination is,
It taught me how to love you in every little thing,
In the bare, autumn trees,
In the falling, yellow leafs,
In the rain,
In every cafeteria in which we drank our black coffee,
My lady, your love taught me to sleep in nameless hotels,
And to sit by nameless shores,
It taught me to weep without tears,
Your love taught me how to grieve,
And for centuries I needed a woman to make me grieve,
I needed a woman
To make me cry on her shoulders like a bird,
I needed a woman to collect my pieces like broken glass,
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