A Wandering Boy With a Song In His Pocket - Part Ii

A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket Arabic Poem by: Salman Dawood Mohammed Translated into English by: Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk) =========================== (5) Just like the wind I drive out loneliness of an empty bench for two... And, like a curfew, I mourn pedestrians’ noise; And as a shirt hanging on a laundry line, I drip down, with all my moisture, on the surface of your days And curse the cloud standing in the queue of ablution. Then, I hate Music, The guards, The law, College students’ uniforms, And astronauts; And I dislike my life! That all developed in the centennial commemoration of my wilting, Amidst an assembly of militias and tambourines Endorsing the funeral procession of my lamps In the alleys Of your absence. *** (6) deleted **** (7) Housewives, Hawkers, The Ministry of love, Tramps, College youngsters, Thieves, Guests of No-Stars hotels, Songs, Traffic controllers, Victims of the national anthem, Train drivers, Bin Laden, Weather report announcers, Gilgamesh, Jurists, Speech writers for the President, Drunks, And my mother, All, All shouted to my face: “Don’t do it, O crazy! Or else you will die!” But O Glory! I did it And... I fell in love with you! *** (8) Rest assured After you, I wouldn’t be alone A labyrinth is a home And footsteps a family. *** (9) Your desertion, the deep rooted in wilting, Is like a nail untouched by hammers; Here it is, with its only sharp tooth, Signing the deeds of tears On the body of waiting. Your painful desertion Has pulverized me Sincerely... Hence, I saluted the remaining ashes of my burning with you, Then I lay on my blood On The heart of sunset And I ..... Died! *** (10) I loved you and went on Just like a cloud skipping school. I strewed my shirt buttons on your fields And let down science class; So my rain couldn’t be in a bottle anymore And the road leading to you Is no more a battle field Or a bird market; But My soul is pouring down on you And my hand Stands .. .. An umbrella. *** (11) The teacher said: “Draw a human heart.” I laid a kiss on your palm, And locked it in with the softness of your fingers. The teacher is now in the recovery room And I am Accused Of forgery. **** Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk) * Salman Dawood Mohammed. A poet from Iraq