And all that remains for me is to follow a violet darkness
on soil where myths splinter and crack.
Yes, love was time, and it too
splintered and cracked
like the face of our country.

My share of the people
is the transit of their ghosts.

_َع َعتَما ٍت َ_بَن^ْف َسجيّة َول أْ^َتَب

^ْي _َس ِ_{سوى أ}^َن

ْربَ ٍة تَتَ _َشقَّ ُ_{ق فيها الأ}^َساطيرفَ ْو َق تُ

َق، هو الآ َخ ُ^{ر،ب َز} _َمنا^ً وتَ _َشق^ََُّّج ْل، كا َن ال ُ_حأ َ

َ^ل _َو ْج ِه بلاِدناِ_مث ْ

ْشبا ِ^ح _ِه ِح َّصتي ِم َن م.الّناس عُبو ُ_{ر أ} َ