The Southerner



    المساهمات : 496
    تاريخ التسجيل : 14/09/2010

    The Southerner

    مُساهمة  Admin في الإثنين أبريل 15, 2013 7:21 pm

    Translated by Abbas El Sheikh
    Edited by Mark Pirie

    O, my exiled friend!
    How your homeland has slipped
    Naked from between your eyelids,
    And the streets have sneaked secretly through your steps.
    O, you, my blind seafarer!
    Don't gouge out the eyes of women with your beard
    Only the pavements see what beauty hides in their dreams; and what….
    Instead, drink the nomadic memories disclosed by the poem.
    O, you, my roving master!
    Why do your hands transform soil
    Into holy words
    And water into funeral music?
    And yet despite this you wish to assassinate
    Your blessed beard
    Without a Mass or wedding
    To claim that the shadow is the ashes of light,
    The distance: violation,
    The streets: the rods of the executioner,
    And the snow: the angel's dust.
    I am not the master of my failures.
    We are still oscillating in her wake
    As she puts history on her lap.
    We are the firebrands of the coffeehouses;
    And the others are their flames.
    Why are the smells of words blackening
    Before they become targeted by your tongue?
    Because we don't have the cunning to succeed,
    Failure writes us in its diary.
    Because you open your shirt,
    The stars are scattered on the sea.

      الوقت/التاريخ الآن هو الأحد يناير 20, 2019 10:42 am