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Positions: Part Two

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Positions: Part Two

Positions: Part Two
Arabic Poem by: Bushra Al-Bustani
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
================

         (4)
The Position of Love
 -----------------------

Your love is the twin of clear water
It sprays aromatic mist on the wing of an angel
Staying up all night to guard our two moons. 

All my bare-foot poems
Play in the terrace of your heart.

If you were not at the door,
All these roses on the terrace 
Would not be smiling.

If it were not for my hand in your 
The curtains would not be trembling in fever.

Your love is a tear drop
I defeat once,
But it defeats me times and times.

Your fingers are smart and intensely glowing 
Their wandering in the mazes tempts me.

Your presence in the pulse of my words
Teaches them how to dance in far away courts.

The violet is sad
With open arms, it waits for you. 

Your love 
Is the only sin 
That refused to disown me,
Therefore, I dwelled in it.

In your arms, my safety lies
I wake it up whenever my pains waken.

Your love
Is the arbor that I have not reached yet.

Your love
Is the bias I refuse to free myself from 
And am not afraid of getting lost in it. 

Your love is the privation
The springs of which I seek to quench my thirst
I am she who is haunted by the bliss of ecstasy
Always leaving and heading to places you do not know,
As the routes of longing take me to the warmth,
I wonder, like a yearning garden,
Are you with me?
And without waiting, the sky pours down gifts,
Glimmers on top of each other,
And my garden unfolds lilies and anemone. 
So I ask my god,
How could fire produce lilies, nightingales and butterflies?
Why does the universe dither
Like your waves that stumble on my stupor?
In the stupor, I no longer fear you.
I discovered that the eternal light is your fire,
My paradise without you is a mirage and a chunk of the night
So, I choose eternity
Since it is the start line for two forearms 
Committing the act of shy shells  
And these forearms are yours.
 
 
So, teach me,
Teach me a game of more suffering
As our skins, germinate nothing but torment.
Teach me a game, in which you are the only winner,
So that I have the sense of victory with you.
***

(Part Three: The Position of Grief follows)
----------------
Translated  from Arabic by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
USA
*Bushara Al-Bustani is a poet from Iraq

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