Just like a small piece of wood can
clog a hole,
the youngest child becomes a dam,
stopping the flood,
rescuing the boat.

Maybe when we abandon home too many times,
We stop finding it inside ourselves.
Maybe when we abandon home too many times,
It stops finding itself in us.

أنا عروسٌ ورقيّة
وردائي أسود اللّون.
أنا عروسٌ ورقيّة وحفل زفافي
مزادٌ علنيّ
يقسّمون ويتقاسمون جسدي وكياني

Home is neither a feeling
Nor a person,
It is 
عريشة جدّي ببيت الجبل
.يللي غدا نهار الأحد إجباري يكون منّا

I have stopped loving you, but my ink still does.
I have stopped loving you, but I miss you still.