Midnight black are her eyes;
She steals your dreams and your sleep,
and fills them with tireless thoughts of guilty redemption,
Sūhad, they call her Sūhad.

Her hair is like the arms of death,
pale, and an intoxicating white,
the lady of my nightmares she is,
Sūhad, they call her Sūhad.

She speaks in whispers in the middle of the night,
her rancid breath I can feel on my neck,
yet her words feel incoherent to my ears,
Sūhad, they call her Sūhad.

When morning comes I forget her,
and with daily chores, I engage,
in sunlight, her existence fades,
Sūhad, they call her Sūhad.

But again will come the night,
and she will be there scratching at my windowpane,
her grey lips whispering a haunting lullaby,
Sūhad, they call her Sūhad.

~•~