I am bored with the world, and I am not bored
Even now the grooves burn me
As if I were a pang in the chest of an expatriate
He walks with splendor.. and he is guided by tricks!
Who do I turn to so that I can rest from my fatigue?
Who will hear me? The Ajaweed died..
If my face was young in its features
My heart and my dreams have wrinkles
