. . . Gently, my hands touch your sleepin body. . . You, who i dream within, sleep. The night now will take cover in the trees. He will sleep on his earth, now, a master for a short sunset. . . So sleep, ill float over the spots of light that leaks from a moon i hold inside. . . Your hair like a tent stretched over the marble of your body, a caravan travelling at night sleepy but never asleep. They never dream. Your couple pigeons, ( ), lights you up from your shoulders to the little fresh grass down down. . Sleep, sleep on yourself, in yourself. . The peace of heavens be upon you, and the earth opens its lands for you one by one. . Your sleep is all about me. No angels to hold the bed, no ghosts wakes up the jasmin flower. . You, my female name, sleep, no flutes crying over a ran away horse from my lands. . . You be what you dream. You, summer of a northern land, makin its forests num into sleep. . Sleep, and just do not wake up a body that is l*sting for a body, in my sleep. . . Darwish