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Beneath the desert sun, one man by one man by one man breathes six. Thousands of tons wrung sonorous from the sky. Where is god . Blackeyed woman, the street dogs are running wild. Will you save me . Simple white ignorance, even the desert has gone into hiding. There is no more meaning here than the crested moon holds towards a dying grove of date trees. I am for the arabic, for the transcription of the arabic, zato dates over firebaked bread. The twin rivers have already called for us a history. Our poets have already explained to us the desert. By what right have you come . Who have you have...

On the steppe, now he is bound. The ewe gives up her lamb, the goat gives up her kid. My heart plays the reed pipe of mourning. In a place where he once said my mother will ask for me, now he cannot move his hands, now he cannot move his feet. I would see my child. The mother walked to the desolate place. She looked at the slain wild bull. She looked into its face. She said, my child, the face is yours. The spirit has fled. There is mourning in the house. There is grief in the inner chambers. The sister wandered about the city, weeping for her brother. Gestanana wandered about the city, weepin...

El batanabi wrote the heart of our silken tanab, what need have we for you . No poem has ever enough red but that its blood might river beneath the veins of its people. Beneath the desert sun, one man by one man by one man breathes six. Thousands of tons wrung sonorous from the sky. Where is god . Blackeyed woman, the street dogs are running wild. Will you save me . Simple white ignorance, even the desert has gone into hiding. There is no more meaning here than the crested moon holds towards a dying grove of date trees. I am for the arabic, for the transcription of the arabic, zato dates over ...

Six. Thousands of tons wrung sonorous from the sky. Where is god . Blackeyed woman, the street dogs are running wild. Will you save me . Simple white ignorance, even the desert has gone into hiding. There is no more meaning here than the crested moon holds towards a dying grove of date trees. I am for the arabic, for the transcription of the arabic, zato dates over firebaked bread. The twin rivers have already called for us a history. Our poets have already explained to us the desert. By what right have you come . Who have you have seen the rustic crane in the tree, no chimes but for its delic...

Do not cry for leila or for him, but drink the red wine and grow your love doublely, one for the ruby in the cup, the other for its rouge on your cheek. Bombs rape the eyes of the sleeping assyrian gods. As if it were only a sand box, a few worthless grains of sand. Ill cut for you the last swathe of blue from the sky, sever my and if youll let me, but for 5 minutes more, leave me to sleep without the knowledge of war. A kanun weeps near the funeral of music. Having been occupied, notes mourn for the loss of their song. I am for a concert of horses, the origin of gazelle leapt up from the hear...