Thought of the day or for the end of days:

ستفتش عنها يا ولدي في كل مكان

وستسأل عنها موج البحر وستسأل فيروز الشطآن

وتجوب بحاراً وبحارا .. وتفيض دموعك أنهارا

وسيكبر حزنك حتى يصبح أشجارا

وسترجع يوماً يا ولدي

مهزوماً مكسور الوجدان

وستعرف بعد رحيل العمر

بأنك كنت تطارد خيط دخان

من قارئة الفنجان – نزار قباني

Here is a mediocre English translation of the whole poem.

Update: I couldn’t help but translate the whole poem. Right now I can’t find a nice online database for translated poems. So here it is:

The Fortune Teller -by Nazar Qabani

She sat, with fear in her eyes,
contemplating my flipped coffee cup,
she said: don’t be sorrowful, my son.
Love is your destiny.

My son, he who has died for love
has died a martyr.

I have told fortunes many times, my son,
but I never saw a cup like yours

I have told fortunes many times, my son,
but I never found a sorrow like yours

You can live forever in the sea of love without sail
and all your life can be a book of tears
and you can remain a prisoner amid water and fire.

For despite all its fires,
despite all its history,
despite the sadness in us, day and night,
despite the wind, and despite the raining weather and the hurricane,
love will remain the sweetest destiny, my son.

In your life, my son, a woman.
Her eyes, praise Whom we worship.
Her lips, drawn like a grape cluster.
Her laugh, melodies and flowers,
and her mad gypsy hair
travels the whole world.

She might become, my son, a woman
that the heart loves;
she might become the world.

But your sky is raining
and your path is blocked, blocked.

Because the love of your heart, my son,
is sleeping in a monitored palace.
Who enters her room, who wants to marry her,
who nears her garden, who tries to undo her braids,
my son, is lost, lost.

You will look for her everywhere, my son
you will ask the waves of the sea about her
and the Turquoise stones of the shores,
you will roam oceans and oceans
and your tears will overflow into rivers
and your sorrow will grow into trees.

Then you will return one day, my son
defeated with a broken spirit
and you will know, after your days have gone,
that you have been chasing a trace of smoke.

The love of your heart, my son,
has no land, no country, no address,
and how hard it is, my son, to love a woman
without an address.