Love, this is the home of craggy sorrow
Each bleak house hugs a solitary widow
Waiting more at a pale silent window
Which portends the dead empty path
This carry the northern cold winds
Of early mornings into the gloomy strath,
Folding time, impatience and wrath,
And all day long, become friends
Footsteps' echoes and pattering of little ones,
Nabbing illusions of joyful shades of tones,
And miserable hearts those endowed anxiety,
And eyes, lips and noses always ready to cry,
Yet how they are innocent, ignorant and pretty.
O love, how the untold words are never dry,
And never desert me like the green in a cedar
Everlasting homage to warmth of leaves,
I doubt that my absence should less differ;
I believe when time rashly counts and leaves,
I should feel your waiting when I disappear
Holding close to my soul your rich serenity,
I should roam your world like a dead star;
Long ago vanished, yet glistens bright and clear
Like your sad eyes when full of precious tears
Those guard your peace and banish your fears.
Written by
Jamal Abboud