You became wild, you became a street cat!
Did you not fly around my heart like a nightingale?
No longer is your beauty a revelation,
Your face no longer a place of worship.
Your former tenderness grew coarse,
What were your fineries, became torn…
How can your beauty betray itself,
How can wine turn to quinine?
I’m afraid for you – decorated with jewelry –
And now you’ve become like a gypsy
Prostituting herself.
An existentialist cat roaming the streets at night –
But who’s still dreaming of you?
– nizar qabbani
