That fountain is from me
And I am from it..
And the water rising from its mouth
Descending between the toes of her feet
Always reminds me..
And it calls me by my name
And I remember it..
And I call it by the name of love
What saddens me when I look at it
Some cracks in its lungs
And defeats in its eyes
And tears flowing on its past
And marble that aged on its valley
What hurts you now
And you are far from Andalusia
And far from the Alhambra Palace?
What about you, white, blue, and green?
For your veins run in my artery
And your water is a waterfall of history in my soul
That drop carries news from Wallada*
That dot in it has pictures from the Umayyad era
And the babbling of water hums me
And it warbles me
My consciousness extends and races me
And it flies to heaven where there is Al-Kawthar
This water is the soul
And the fountain is for me a homeland and wounds
Let each of us imagine a body floating in a fountain
And travels through the water radiation
To the Nile River to save it from eternal thirst
And return with a seagull of luminous love
Swinging above the fountain
That fountain is from me
And I am from it..
But when I look at it now
I see it has become
A jug of pottery
And I have become marble
In the tombs of the dead.
Wallada bint al-Mustakfi is an Andalusian poetess, the lover of Ibn Zaydun.
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