By Charbel Baini
Translated by Mirna Nehme

Migration with black eyes
Not even twenty said:
What are you hoping for?
My miserable poet
You are drawing the return
On rising waves,
Between you and them years
 Here you have a house,
There you do not
You carried your hardship and left,
No one supported you
Nor the government wants you
Nor your people embraced you
And the soil was disgusted
From the sweat of your elbow
I am the only one
Who protected from treason
To overcome your conditions
Who are you without migration?
Tired out by your letters,
Crucified by your poetry
And blood on your palms
They expelled you, I took you in
They hated you, I loved you
You gathered my money,
You were bountiful to your country
You married me, 
And you deprived me of your children
Why are not you satisfied?
You are living in my heart
And your heart in Lebanon
I told it: I did not betray you
During these years
Nor did I forget your remunerations
In you I endured agony
To repay you your sorrow
With my body perspiration 
I scented your feet,
Gather the gift
And scatter it on you
I came to you young
And I forgot to flirt
In you I suffered so much
And the age goes on
Where will I be!?
A fool is asking!?

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