My female friends,
dolls swathed in gauze in a museum they lock;
coins in History's mint, never given, never spent;
fish swarming and choking in every basin and tank,
while in crystal vessels,dying butterflies flock.
Without fear
I shall write of my friends,
of the chains twisted bloody around the ankles of beauties,
of delirium and nausea, and the nighttime that entreaty rends,
and desires buried in pillows, in silence.                                         

  - Nizar Qabbani