May I have a vacation?

May I have a vacation?
-1-
O woman who dwells in my nervous system...
Will you allow me to relax as others do?
And enjoy the days in the mountains...
As others do...
The mountain is a Spanish silk fan
And you are painted on it...
And the birds of your eyes...
Come flocking from the sea...
Just as words fly from the pages of a blue notebook...
Will you allow my memory to break the siege of your scent?
And smell the basil, the jasmine, and the wild thyme?
Will you allow me...
To sit on the summer balcony for a minute?
Without your voice climbing like a blue vine
On the railing of our house...
And without loving you in my morning coffee?
-2-
I worked for nine months...
At your arrogant breasts!!..
And I have the right - like all workers in the world -
To take my annual leave...
My wages were low...
My luck was low...
And my hands were cracked...
from working so hard in the gold mines.
Even on the first of May...
I went to work like every other day
and guarded your sleeping breasts...
like every other day...
I used the little money I had saved
to buy them...
almond and honey cakes...
But your breasts...
- like all children of feudal families -
considered me their property...
from the time of the first king of the Nahdi family...
and they whipped me ninety times on my back...
and ninety times on my chest...
until I dropped my lawsuit against them...
and returned to work....
-3-
I hung you in my wardrobe in Beirut...
And took the key with me...
I hid your face under my shirts and handkerchiefs...
And tiptoed out...
Before you woke up...
...................
..... And today... as I was walking along the mountain roads...
I saw you leaning on a wheat stalk...
racing with my morning bird...
tying your hair with an orange ribbon...
What are you doing here?
And who gave you my address in the mountains?
O you who collided with my love...
And became a woman...
And collided with the tropical weather of her breasts...
And knew the extent of my manhood...
I gave you blessing and fertility...
And made you like the sea... One... And many...
And I placed my hand on the whiteness of your thighs...
And you became a tribe...
What are you doing here?
Even the forest...
Reminds me of how you used to comb your hair...
And I cry...
Even the summit...
reminds me of your breasts rising above the sea...
and I feel dizzy...
-4-
Can a man who loves you like I do...
have a normal summer holiday?
Can I separate myself from the solar system
that has been revolving around your eyes for millions of years
and spend my summer in another region...
that is not subject to your authority?
Can I make this difficult choice?
So I sit like a madman on a rocking chair...
reading detective stories...
drinking mineral water...
and testing my knowledge with crossword puzzles...
Summer is a flat time...
And your salary is tied to your time, despite its many fluctuations...
Summer is emptiness... And I am filled with you...
Summer is change...
And I don't want to leave you...
With the treasures of this world...
Tell me...
Who is the fool who invented the word "summer"?
He threw you like a gold ring on the sands of Beirut...
And imposed house arrest on me
Under the tree of sleep...
Perhaps he did not know that the tree...
Remains a thousand years on the mountain top
And does not become a woman...
Whereas the moment you
Enter the realm of my chest...
You become a tree...