By Fadi Abu Deeb
This night, I wonder what the music will whisper to me.
Sitting under the wing of a Scandinavian forest,
Before the vast presence of unending icy meadows,
I face the moon, as two soldiers in a battle.
I surrender my vanity,
Ask him to be my guide,
In the mental depth of the Milky Way
Throughout the tree of countless branches.
This night, I wonder about the plans of the wandering wind
Will it carry the sneaking light to the innermost countryside,
To houses slumbering in the bosom of thickets of fir and birch?
Will the wind travel to the stars,
to bring back tales and rumors of destinies,
And give the sleeping spirits ambiguous messages of certainty?
This night, I wonder if my hard work will leave any trace
In a world of constant change and flipping dispositions
But I cast away the demons of inquiry,
I observe the galaxy:
“Look, the stars do not question their blazing,
Even their light cannot be seen until after millions of years!
The planets do not doubt their revolution,
Even though all people thought for thousands of years they were static.
I’m a sparkling star!
I’m a revolving planet!