We and no one else

We and no one else but us are waiting for eternity in a stupor, and time does not contain it in our wombs.

I was before you and the whistling of the wind brought us sad jasmine.
O Layth, I lived a white life, and I became the blackness of the bird in the sky, I became a mirage of lilacs, I miss it whenever I feel very tired, as if the loss has something to do with the vanity of our moody and volatile homeland.

There is no need to worry about the gloomy, and there is no need for the walls to stand as diagonal borders between my feet and your head.
The voice does not mean to speak breathlessly to explain with incomprehensible tremors that my sidewalks and sterile sensations.
Your sadness is long, Leith.
So imagine that spring feeds on your faith and mine, so that flowers grow from the ashes.