كمْ مِنْ عُهودٍ عذبةٍ
في عَدْوَةِ الوادي النَّضيرِ
قضَّيتُها ومعي الحبيبَةُ
لا رَقيبَ ولا نَذيرْ
واللهوُ والعَبَثُ البريءُ
الحلوُ مطمحُنا الأَخيرْ
ونَظَلُّ نقفزُ أو نُثَرْثِرُ
أَو نغنِّي أَو نَدورْ
لا نَسْأَمُ اللَّهْوَ الجميلَ
وليس يُدْرِكُنا الفُتُورْ
فكأَنَّنا نحيا بأَعصابٍ
من المَرَحِ المُثيرْ
وكأنَّنا نمشي بأَقدامٍ
مجنَّحةٍ تَطيرْ
أَيَّامَ كنَّا لُبَّ هذا
الكونِ والباقي قُشُورْ
آهٍ توارى فَجْرِيَ القُدسيُّ
في ليلِ الدُّهُورْ
وفَنَى كما يَفنى النَّشيدُ
الحلوُ في صَمْتِ الأَثيرْ
في عَدْوَةِ الوادي النَّضيرِ
قضَّيتُها ومعي الحبيبَةُ
لا رَقيبَ ولا نَذيرْ
واللهوُ والعَبَثُ البريءُ
الحلوُ مطمحُنا الأَخيرْ
ونَظَلُّ نقفزُ أو نُثَرْثِرُ
أَو نغنِّي أَو نَدورْ
لا نَسْأَمُ اللَّهْوَ الجميلَ
وليس يُدْرِكُنا الفُتُورْ
فكأَنَّنا نحيا بأَعصابٍ
من المَرَحِ المُثيرْ
وكأنَّنا نمشي بأَقدامٍ
مجنَّحةٍ تَطيرْ
أَيَّامَ كنَّا لُبَّ هذا
الكونِ والباقي قُشُورْ
آهٍ توارى فَجْرِيَ القُدسيُّ
في ليلِ الدُّهُورْ
وفَنَى كما يَفنى النَّشيدُ
الحلوُ في صَمْتِ الأَثيرْ
رح انشر قصيدة إسمها Modern love "الحب المعاصر"... إذا متفهمها كلش طبيعي، لأن انكتبت بالقرن الـ 19
And what is love? It is a doll dress’d up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on
Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss’s comb is made a pearl tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Then Cleopatra lives at number seven,
And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.
Fools! if some passions high have warm’d the world,
If Queens and Soldiers have play’d deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be more common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl
The Queen of Egypt melted, and I’ll say
That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on
Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss’s comb is made a pearl tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Then Cleopatra lives at number seven,
And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.
Fools! if some passions high have warm’d the world,
If Queens and Soldiers have play’d deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be more common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl
The Queen of Egypt melted, and I’ll say
That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.
It's just the mind, a very complex machine that's constrained by the narrowness of existence, turning its wheels, tantalised by a vision of happiness and sensing, quite rightly and hopelessly, that there could have been so much more to life than there ever will be.