Allow me to write you this, now that we have separated ways and left, safe and sound like

a pure prose
on a stone that may turn green or yellow in our absences. Allow me to gather you and your name, just
as the letter Nūn (‫)ن‬, a copper plate big enough to hold a full moon, at the heart of ‫( أنا‬anā/me) and the
first and last letter of ‫( نحن‬nahnu/we).

As you aged before my eyes, I never asked you why you wound yourself whenever you become absent
in a presence. We had no need for myths back then, but what happened in them is now happening to
us...on this day that is being crushed under the chains of a tank. There is nothing we can do and there is
no tomorrow, they said, when we are in this state, bound to firm fates, tied to abyss after abyss.

I, your once friend, now remind you of this: No matter how near you come, you will remain distant. No
matter how often you are killed, you will live. So do not think that you are dead there, and alive here.
Nothing proves this or that but metaphor. Metaphors that teach beings the play of words. Metaphors
that form a geography from a shadow. Metaphors that will gather you and your name. So ascend higher
and farther than what their myths have prepared for you. Write, yourself, the history of your heart,
from the moment Thuban was replaced by Polaris, until the resurrection of your happiness. And write,
yourself, the history of your kind, from the time you borrowed their rhythm and manner of breathing,
until your return to home alive. You lie before me, like a rhyme that cannot carry the rush of my words. I
elegize and I am the elegized. So be just you so I can be you! Rise up so you can carry them! Do not
come near so I can know you! Go far away so I can know you!