كلمات الوقت

My soul has forgotten the object Of its passion,
Forgotten its legacy hidden
At the heart of images
No longer remembers the story told
By the rain
Nor that of the trees inscribed in their ink.
What is it that separates me from myself? Could I be more than one?
Could my story be my downfall
And my promised land my pyre?
Could I be several?
One questions the other: who are you, whence do you come?
 Could it be madness?
 So teach me, madness, be my guide