A Wandering Boy With a Song In His Pocket
A Wandering Boy with a Song in His Pocket (Part I)
Arabic Poem by: Salman Dawood Mohammed
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
===========================
A blaze
Sticking out
Its tongue
At firefighters
That’s what love is!
***
(2)
Do you remember my soul,
When I gathered the tweets
One feather at a time
So your cages wouldn’t suffer dreariness?
Do you remember my soul,
When I said to the god of the sea:
- I 'm the drowning man who disturbed your water
So that it wouldn’t accuse your sneaking away boats of falsehood?
Do you remember my soul,
When it raced my heart murmur
In the game of “Who Beats for You More”
Till my soul beat itself
For no award..?!
Do you remember my soul,
When I exclaimed, at the time of dividing the estate:
“I am a stork’s child
Descending down like a black child
From the chimney of your lofty home as a wound”
Just for the sake of resemblance
With black molasses
Dissolved in the bitterness of your time!
I doubt that you remember,
As this unique ash is all that remains,
Of the ignition of my memory,
In the darkness of your oblivion;
So how
Could the monsters of grief
Not be mothers to me,
When death is a father?
***
(3)
Once I enumerate my years
A kiss...
After a kiss
On your fingers,
Your lips utter butterflies
And the sun becomes your mirror;
That’s how I love you and flare up
So that the others
Would not accuse me
Of …
Darkness...
***
(4)
Oh! Times and times I’ve I told you
Waiting on harbor docks hurts me;
It piles the mobs of grief onto me
And forces me to burst
Like a tear gas bomb
For the pains to disperse successfully with tears
Leaving their banner behind:
A banner in the form of
A palm leaf pulled off of its tree...,
Oh! How eagerly, the hunger of hearths will be
Flocking around the elegance of its dry corpse,
And the name will be,
As usual:
Me.
***
(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!
***
****
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
* Salman Dawood Mohammed. A poet from Iraq
** Part II will follow
___________
See The text In Arabic with a Foreward at this link
http://www.alnoor.se/article.asp?id=217305
Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2013
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