When you abandoned me,
I didn't need an elegy
because you had planted
...
For my mother Noor, poet, whose verses I borrow
I hang on to the hem of her dress like a child hanging
On to the string of an immovable kite
I climb her braid like a squirrel climbing a hazelnut tree
...
Not with your tribe's spears i write
for they are dull
but with my nails
words without walls
...