Tr. by Dr Shihab Ghanem
I want to cry
But fear stops me, not pride,
On my chest rests a mountain of unhappiness.
* * * * *
I want to ask a question
But it’s impossible
For the shadows eavesdrop on every word.
* * * * *
I want to breathe, to be free
Or at least find some sufferable air,
For the chains are eating into the meat of my soul
And I am dying of suffocation.
I want to have a moment of peace
And dream of light born amongst the ruins.
A glimpse of light
Becoming a flood bursting the walls of darkness around me.
But all I hear is laughter resounding
In the pitch blackness,
Mocking me.
* * * * *
I want to have a moment of happiness.
I want … and life scoffs at me
And pushes its spear between my ribs
* * * * *
I want to run away
O! Harder to attain than the feather in the
wing of a flying eagle
Or the glimmer of a mirage
For they have locked a thousand and one doors.
* * * * *
I want to escape
But how?
When in every corner lies a murdered corpse.
I want .. but .. but .. but
I shall seek deliverance
Even if blasted by a shower of bullets ..
Aden, 1971
tr. by Dr Shihab Ghanem
What is globalization ?
Is it a new religion ?
Everything in it appears beautiful at a distance
Elections ..,the Gatt..,Technology ..
Always going forward
And human rights ..
Is it a useful religion ?
Then why is it forced on people with iron and fire ?
And why has it changed worshippers into slaves ?
***
What is globalization ?
Is it throwing “dishdashas” into dustbins
So that the jeans becomes the dress of boys and girls
And McDonald the favourite food
And Coca cola the favourite drink
And our culture becomes violence and sex
Of all shapes and colours
Designed cunningly by human devils
To brainwash children
And brainwash adults
Day and night,
And night and day,
With every TV set,
And every satellite station,
And every video tape…
***
What is globalization?
Is it the sell out by all nations
Of their civilizations
And their histories
For all histories have ended
So did say Fokayama
Without vagueness
There is just one model to seek
It carries all the stars
So follow it if you want to survive
To avoid the clash of civilizations
And avoid the raids
When the soldiers come, with their flags
And we end up like Red Indians.
tr. by Dr Shihab Ghanem
It is the wave coming ..
It is the wave receding ..
So are the vagaries of life, my love.
If life at times is harsh on us
Do not be sad, my love.
Smile to me tenderly.
Oh, how sweet is your smile!
It is the wave playing
It is the wave having fun ..
It will come and go
And come and go again
So if today is harsh
Perhaps tomorrow will be kinder.
And if a beguiling glance is cast your way today
Be not deceived, my love,
For tomorrow it may become a fickle frown.
But do not grieve my love, my music, my fragrance,
Hand me the cup of love,
Filled with sweet nectar.
Soothe my parched soul
Never let my cup run dry!
It is the world – sweet and bitter,
So why should we despair,
My love, sister of the moon,
Yet more beautiful.
Fill the cup of love to the brim and let us drink
So that we may drown our lingering sorrow in its bowl
If we do not rejoice now, when will we ever do?
It is the wave playing ..
It is the wave billowing
Surging angrily, harshly,
As though to welcome violence.
But so long as your image sleeps in my eyelids,
So long as my heart throbs with yearning,
So long as your heart flutters with love,
Then will our love never drown
But forever ride the surf.
And if the waves could come between us,
They would dry up!
In our hearts will always be
The song of Love
Despite everything
Soliloquy Of a Grand Tree
tr. by Dr Shihab Ghanem
An exhausted traveler takes to my shade,
He shuts his eyelids and sleeps soundly.
He dreams and dreams.
Absolute quietness falls over the world
And darkness shrouds the earth.
A rosy thread emanates from the east
The birds take to my branches and sing
The leaves dance under the gentle breeze,
The fragrance intermingles with the music,
A refreshed face slowly opens its eyes
Like an egg hatching
Happiness sparkles in its half- opened eyes
The smile spreads its wings and rests on his lips.
When the leaves dry up on my branches
And all my umbrageous shade leaves for ever.
The wood-cutters whirl their axes at my trunk
But I might become a bench in a garden cradling lovers,
Or a window through which the rays of sunrise seep,
Or my wood might be converted into paper
On which would be written love poems or letters of longing,
Or I might be cut into wood for the fireplace
And radiate warmth copiously
And feel that even at the moment of my extinction
I could still be creative!
