Shuwaikh... A bird without legs

The poet: Saad Al-Ahmad - Like a bird without legs, it never lands in a place to rest on the nest of its wings; it keeps flying... Crowded with wishes, it seems like an old woman who doesn’t know how time caught up with her, leaving her frail! Leaning on memories, empty from them, the beginning troubles him, and he lacks eyes enough to see the end of the race... A cat slipped into the room and became a poem, sleeping on the warmth of my chest—my chest, which I distributed its tenderness without expecting anything in return. I could buy with it a shirt to cover its flaws. My shadow sails the ports toward my ships, all of them drowning in the sea of manifestation. I have nothing in identity except a weary soul and a heart whose beats echo... I walk, and my shadow follows me. I walk, and my dream precedes me. I walk, chained by the art of mirrors. How can she, without a cup, perceive the fatigue on my lips? The poem exhausts me, and everything that should not be revealed. We were both a coincidence, hearing the sound of rain before the beginning, and we melted like clay, not knowing when it became a statue, but certain of that when it melted.