By Fadi Abu Deeb

The smell of fried onions
Increases the intimacy of the noon
We’re looking out onto Leuven’s cathedral
***
The room on the bank of the old canal
Imprisoned behind an iron net
To prevent the river from sneaking into the dreams
***
The train delivers me to the bosom of the celebrating city
Before cuddling,
I examine its red hair
***
The tower of the library,
Is it a chamber in which the time arranges itself
to discipline the longings of the passersby,
Or the eye of the universe
Watching the dreams of the hills nearby?