When I enter the earth’s nest
my wings resting,
I will free my eyelids so not to see
the trees swaying nearer.
Do not cry over me.
I said do not cry.
If you wish, remember that my wings
and there is no water without waves
and no waves without a shore where they crash.
I rest here
to have reached the last shore.
Do not cry.
Even the sound of my breathing cannot reach me . . .
Damascus, February 8, 1995