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