Death has polluted eyes

September is returning, and you are not here to welcome it. Longing, Sawsan... I never knew longing was a fatal disease. All my wounds can be stitched with the sutures of forgetfulness, except for your loss. This wound will only widen with each remembrance that I will live my life without you. My heart, Sawsan, burns with longing for you, and this ink I've forsaken for so long, I wouldn't have been able to write again were it not for you. Who will sing the song of your birth month that you always requested? Did Fairouz know, when she sang "His Yellow Leaf," the meaning of "He will return while you are far away, a sad Baghdad, its moon lonely"? Winter will make me weep, my happy moon. It will leave me alone in the darkness and cold, and the light of dawn will be in vain. Searching in colored eyes for a trace of yours, Sawsan, has poisoned me. Later, I wished the bullet had chosen me instead of you. I was the one who should have been killed. The bullet would have been the salvation from what I'm living through now, and now I'm among the dead. September is returning, but you're not here to welcome it. Ah, Sawsan, longing... I didn't know longing could be a fatal disease. All the wounds inside me can be healed by the stitches of forgetfulness, except the wound of losing you. This wound grows deeper every time I remember that I will live the rest of my life without you. My heart, Sawsan, yearns for you so intensely. And this ink I've been avoiding for so long, I wouldn't have returned to it were it not for you. Your birthday is coming soon, but who will sing your happy song with their heart this time? Did Fairouz know, when she sang "Yellow Leaves," that September would return, but you would be far away, and that it would return with sad clouds and a lonely moon? The winter of September will make me weep, my happy moon. It will leave me alone in the darkness and cold, trying in vain to light the candle flames. I feel nauseous, Sawsan, as I search in every colored eye for a trace of you. Sometimes I wish that bullet had been meant for me, not you. I should have been killed instead of you. That bullet would have been my salvation from this life; I would have become just another one of those who have passed on.