Yes,you loved her!Half a century now, and you’re still moaning.Remember how a night train ferried your tender passions.You loved no one but her,and you’ve loved seven beautiful women after her.But you know it, as if you’d never kissed anyone else.You still have a taste of damascene rose on your lips from her.Don’t bloody the soft, tender petals.Be gentle with the rose!They’ve not faded.And you’ve not faded.And the train goes on lumbering from Baghdadto the date palms of the South,as if clear water streamingfrom the eyes of God.This same train that led you both, the narrow gauge train,the train with a small sleeping compartment like a child’s nursery,will carry you, one day, from Basra to Baghdad, handcuffed.How you tried to befriend the policeman taking you!You were still a boy at the time!Yes, you loved her.She was soft and fragrant like dough,as if a sweet pollen dew exuded from her.You knew you wouldn’t sleepand you knewthat your girl waited too long to be on that train.We have arrived!Third-class carriages that transport soldiers, peasants, and poor students.Carriages where the wood moans and flies buzz, carriages of endless coughing and heat.These carriages transport prisoners and distribute them deep into Iraq.I was with Comrade Sami Ahmed, my right wrist tied to his left.Finally, I learned that the lifeI was destined for was my image of myself.It’s much harder than saying, I lived.”Easier than saying, “Farewell!”So, let’s stay on that train.Yes,you loved her.