I want you to love me. 
I want you to love me till the end of my days.
I want you to love me
the way a poet loves his tenderest thoughts
I want you to remember me 
the way a traveler remembers a placid pool
in which he saw the image of his face
before he drank from its waters
I want you to remember me
the way a mother remembers her child
that died in her womb 
before it saw the light of day
I want you to think of me 
the way a compassionate king thinks of a prisoner
that died before the pardon could reach him
I want you to be for me 
a brother, a friend, a companion.
I want you to visit my father when he is alone 
and console him in his solitude.
For I shall soon abandon him
and go far away.
I’ll make my spirit a cloak for your spirit,
my heart a home for your beauty,
my breast a grave for your secrets.
I will love you, Salma,
the way fields love the spring
I will live in you
the way flowers live in the heat of the sun
I will remember you, Salma,
the way a homesick man remembers his beloved homeland
the way a starving begger remembers fresh food
the way an overthrown king remembers
the days of his glory and majesty
How the grief-stricken prisoner 
remembers the hours of his freedom and confidence.
I will think of you 
the way a tiller thinks 
about the bushels of corn
and cereals on the threshing floor 
The way the good shepherd 
thinks about good meadows 
and sweet springs.
