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To Van Gogh
Because I am allied to all this dust. Because my heart is full
of wilderness. Because I am a drinking companion to the weary sun. Because we got drunk together. Because women are clouds crossing my glass

heaven didn’t do me any favour. Because
it caused many schisms inside me. Because the Earth
murdered my footsteps. Because war didn’t devastate any cities,
but invaded my passion

Because I am difficult, stubborn, miserable, gentle. Because I am
the guest of my own love, Hulagu’s ally, the Tartars’ supporter
The one who burnt Rome, and the conqueror of Troy

Because I feel the Earth’s anxiety, grief, dejection,
defiance, passion, I feel longing, nostalgia, thirst, joy, fright

Because in my heart I preserve cities,
eyes, women, stars,
paths, clouds and histories of oblivion

I am like that,
each time that love breaks me down, or
a woman withdraws from my long way, or
a cloud flees from my sky, I close my heart
for an hour or two

I am like that. Because of all that
I’d rather go to hell, or shake the details of the void off me,
the spirit’s false step at Heaven’s door, Heaven, lovers’
glass, the voice of Leila crossing the old balcony of
the heart, our long evening party

should rather
stop time, the clock’s hands,
the resounding of Big Ben, churches’ bells, monotonous
hallelujahs, sunrise, sunset,
the sea’s ebb and flow

The earth
should rather
put an end
to its own wars
So that
I proclaim