Translated into English by: Zoran Ančevski
My beloved with eyes of a dove
who will not even come to see me
poor like Dostoyevski
proud like Napoleon my love with raven hair
in his flat with no water
to wash his hair
as the pipes are broken
in the cheap room
cheaper than the cheapest hotel
my love with lips like violets
my true love with a body like Lebanon
like present-day Lebanon all in ruins
ruined by life and illusions
my love’s always in quarrel with the world
as the others are responsible for his misery
even if he were happy he wouldn’t know how to act
but could only make me jealous
abbot women
but he never touched any other woman
my love with legs of white marble
that never stepped on marble
nor sensed how much love can burn
above their whiteness
the song of songs has been written in this age
because the common songs
do not have in them
one lover
and one love