Nights and Tales  By Hamdan Dammag My head is overflowing With nights and tales And with black thoughts. My vision is raided By a whirlwind of time’s sand And the sobbing of a rabid brain. My memory is churning the summer’s illusions And the farce of whims and wills. I hear the footpaths of sorrow rumbling in my ears And the whistles of the trains of exile whispering: “Hey you! Traveller in the port of the dreams Fiddling with the strings of desire Do not play with colours! Lest your fingers be burnt by amazement And the ladies fill your head with mysteries”.