Water binds me to your name

Water binds me to your name.

Nothing is left of me except you.

Nothing is left of you except me -

a stranger caressing the thighs of a stranger.

O stranger, what will we do with what's left

of the stillness and the brief sleep between two myths?

Nothing carries us: neither path nor home.

Was this the same path from the beginning?

Mahmud Darwish, "Who am I, without Exile?", Unfortunately it was Paradise: Selected Poems, Munir Akash et al. (trad.), Frienses Corporation (Printer), s.d.