Analyse poétique

Pause and let's cry for the memory of a loved one and a place in the lowland between Dakhul and Hawmal. A night like ocean waves, its curtains drawn over me with various worries to challenge me. I said to it, when it stretched its back and followed its hind parts, burdened with everything. O long night, won't you clear with the morning, and what is the morning like you? Oh, what a night, as if its stars were tied with twisted thread to Yathbul. As if the Pleiades were hung in their places with flax ropes to solid rocks. I set out while the birds are in their nests with a swift horse that captures wild beasts. Running forward and backward, coming and going together like a torrent of rocks washed by the flood from above. A dark horse whose saddle slips from its back like the smoothness of a polished stone.