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I have no power to tame you
or domesticate you
or mitigate your first instincts
This task is impossible
I've tested my intelligence on you
also my dumbness
Nothing worked with you, neither guidance
nor temptation
Stay primitive as you are
Stay as erratic as you are
Stay as aggressive as you are
Never believe what a man says about himself
that he is the one who makes the poems
and makes the children
It is the woman who writes the poems
and the man who signs his name to them
It is the woman who bears the children
and the man who signs at the maternity hospital
that he is the father
I have no power to change your nature
my books are of no use to you
and my convictions do not convince you
nor does my fatherly council do you any good
you are the queen of anarchy, of madness, of belonging
to no one
Stay that way
You are the tree of femininity that grows in the dark
needs no sun or water
you the sea princess who has loved all men
and loved no one
slept with all men… and slept with no one
you are the Bedouin woman who went with all the tribes
and returned a virgin
Stay that way
Samra, O childhood dream
Impregnable, miserly lips
Approach me not, remain as
A thought of beauty for morrow.
My heart is full of sweet void
so enter it not.
I fear it would choke
Beneath your moist, perfumed kisses
And vanish over the horizon
Through your kohl-anointed lashes.
What has beauty taken
From you and your plaited trees?
Its lights? I would gladly die for the light
Born of your languid glance.
Your mouth replies to a smile:
' Go, paint the corpse's flowers.''
The earth as you pass is an awakening from the deep slumber of dream,
Joyous as if your flashing smile were some small chink of hope.
Samra, remain one among the unattainable;
The object of my lip's desire and of my distraught gaze;
That morrow for which we long
And death, stealing forward, grasps.