الأصواتُ المُستنيرةُ مَنفيَّةٌ... - Arthur Rimbaud

Magical flowers were humming. The turf slopes cradled *him.* Beasts of a fabulous elegance were circulating. Storm clouds were piling up on the rising sea made of an eternity of hot tears.

عندما يُختزل العالم إلى غابة سوداء وحيدة في أعيننا الأربع المندهشة، وإلى شاطئ لصغيرين وفيّين، وإلى منزل موسيقي لتجاوبنا الجليّ، فإنني سألقاك

The wolf howled under the leaves
And spit out the prettiest feathers
Of his meal of fowl:
Like him I consume myself.