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 May 2016
Lynn Al-Abiad
في فراشة بيضاء بتجي كل يوم على شباكي بتفرش جوانحها و بتنطرني انطق اسمه
بتنطرني على وهلة لتحمل اسمه عن شفافي بجوانحها الهزيلة
و جوانحها بتثقل و بتروح لعند الشمس و بتحرق اسمه لتقدر ترجع على ملجأها
و ثاني يوم بترجع ع شباكي مفكرة إنو شي نهار اسمه رح يصير خفّ الريشة و رح تقدر تاخدو معها و ما بقى ترجع لعندي



There's a white butterfly that comes every day at my window, unfolds her wings and waits for me to say his name
It waits for me impatiently to grab his name off my lips on her little wings
And her wings grow heavy thus she goes to the sun and burns his name for her to be able to fly back home
And the next day she comes back at my window, thinking that one day, his name will be light enough for her to be able to carry it on her wings and never have to come back to me



لين اا -
- LynnAA
4/5/2016
 May 2016
Mike Essig
Our hands rise
and the street leaps.
Our eyes lower,
the heavens collapse.

From our unspoken pain,
a tulip tree grows
mysteriously behind us.

From our cherished wishes,
a star rises
just beyond our reach.

Do you hear the bullets
whizzing around our heads
guarding our kisses?

The sweetness
of your glance
never ends.

No birds fly south
from your eyes;
no avalanches slide
from your *******.

In the paradise
of your sight
the sun never sets.

These are your lips
I return to your neck.

Your blood
burns in my heart.

Everything remains.

— The End —