Ya Tair (O bird)

O bird flying

on the tip of the world

If you would only tell

the beloved about me

O bird.

Go ask the one who is alone

and wounded, all remedies of no avail

pained and not telling

what pains him

and in his memory recur

nights of childhood.

O bird who carries

the color of trees

in which there's nothing but boredom

and waiting

with the sun's eye I wait

on coldness of stone

the hands of reparation shake me

and I am troubled.

I beseech you by your teachers

which are equal to my days

I beseech by the thorn-rose and the wind

if you are going toward those

whom I love

and were love to erupt again

take me even for one minute

and return me.