Mira Awad - Wihdati

My loneliness is a sad city,
I roam it's streets, I count it's pavements.
And when night falls, angry horses come running through it, startled by lightning.

My loneliness is a land, filled with blooming trees,
But when the fruits ripen, they fall and decay,
For there is no-one to gather them, no-one to care.

My loneliness is a longing,
Crying out for something beyond the senses,
And outside the skin.