I Embrace a Tower Thinking it’s a Minaret

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    تاريخ التسجيل : 14/09/2010

    I Embrace a Tower Thinking it’s a Minaret

    مُساهمة  Admin في الإثنين أبريل 15, 2013 4:26 pm

    Translated by Jawad Wadi
    Edited by Mark Pirie



    When I try to catch drowsiness
    a sun which follows
    night bands
    scratches my face
    like an army
    being exhausted
    by defeats
    The sorrow stretches out
    in my steps
    and I cry:
    How many years
    have been prepared
    for this attired speech
    in blackness?

    My shadows are arrogant
    with me
    I talk to people passing words
    about a sky
    that I once seated
    on my bed
    letting its stars dance
    till a burning Autumn
    escaped, sighing
    its dryness

    In gardens, I whispered
    to butterflies to seek
    my door
    I left nothing on the table
    but my defeats
    I don’t know
    how the Arabian jasmine
    held me
    We are only frustrations
    with rusty memories
    In order
    to pass the time
    in exile
    I didn’t look back
    at my wounds
    I fed the river
    my garments
    while my eyes
    were smelling the scent
    of my absence
    I didn’t feel
    except for the waiting of others

    When the flocks of the stars
    were ravishing the darkness carriage
    I revealed my madness
    to the pavements
    but I was afraid of
    envy from women passing by

    I fascinate in myrtle
    which is like me
    It liberates the sparrows
    to chirp
    I relax, caring for sleepless cooing
    I say:
    For each tempest
    my forgetfulness reclines –
    my heart is a field
    not to be disdained
    by warplanes!

    My heart is a compass
    and a lamp that morning
    is dangling from
    I seduce it with slander
    The daffodil accompanies me
    never saying farewell

    – How did they send me to war
    if I am enchained with love? –

    My mother burned
    thirteen candles
    to adorn my coming
    and when the windows
    grew old with waiting
    I burned what remained
    for departure

    On each door
    there was a black banner
    splitting the potency of
    daylight
    O, you, my ruin
    stop your propagation!

    A silence stays in drowsiness
    and leaves
    I watch the early firebrand
    playing with the jonquil
    I beckon to her
    to shun me with whiteness
    Her sympathy amazes me
    – I will compete with her coldness
    in my dreams –
    How can I ravish her chest
    if jasmine never looks happy?
    How can I lead the birches?
    Who may I lead?
    Laughter follows music
    and guards her lips
    from my daytime
    So bitter is the waist
    when it forcefully lisps my sinking
    So bitter I become
    when I walk the virgin streets
    for my … RISE!

    The sorrow is digging
    a well for my home
    The flocks of light
    are hidden in my eyelids
    So many wishes are leaving
    my head
    Cooing steps out
    of the window
    A singer’s voice
    becomes husky
    like a pale shining
    we have leaked in stations

    We restore the eyelids
    of linden
    We beg blind lamps
    to swim in darkness
    The stars are locked up high
    I unleash my spark
    towards you
    but it doesn’t arrive
    I talk to the sorrow
    about you, it beckons me
    to palm-trees
    to sack eternity
    from my slumber
    and wipe its shores
    from my brow

    May I listen to the secret delirium
    while it writhes on my page
    leaving my life on the table
    letting out its grief?
    I have chosen the loneliness
    of the rain’s flasks
    I walk my labyrinth
    and enter deeply
    I don’t look round
    at the windows
    when I hide my expressions
    in its bedroom
    I don’t look around
    at the fields of abas
    I don’t see
    where their rivulets
    are departing from
    The moon caprice
    combs their nights

    The woman of forty
    – my mother –
    seats my thirty years
    on her knees
    to suckle me
    She weeps for me
    and for her dreams as well
    On her thighs
    angels slumber

    This woman’s
    femininity flows
    in my hands
    and the sky flourishes
    with uncultivated lilac
    The streams tend to whiteness
    and the shores freely
    beckon to me
    I worry about God
    in the deluge

    There is no Prophet
    to save those who remain
    Balconies are casing us
    with one eye
    Our shadows are pelting
    the curtains with kisses
    The waves implore
    the shirts of passers-by
    to can the coasts
    in the fog’s nausea
    The carriages exchange
    their scratches and wet maps
    with the waves
    I embrace a tower
    thinking it’s a minaret
    for when the President
    didn’t find his enemies
    he threw the frontiers
    behind me
    March becomes pale
    I smoke nothing
    but my pain
    The daisy is so lagging
    to face the songs
    that lean on our lives

      الوقت/التاريخ الآن هو الإثنين مايو 21, 2018 8:59 am