Arabic Poem by: Riyadh Al-Ghareeb*
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
It was not his idea
He did not wave to the sundown of his life
Quite simply, he let life go by
He was the only one who did not care about the war
Rather, he listened to music
And wrote poems
Shells were falling all around him..
Not once, he thought about death
Nor he paid attention to getting old in the mirror
All that he cared about
Was a woman he imagined loving him
And waiting for someone who may come back
Carrying a small snippet
Emblazoned with the script
From extreme madness “
He lived in his illusion
Even as he became a poet.
When his life was clotting
And nightfall of life was waving to him
All that was going on around him
Was not his choice
And the life he encountered
Was not his life..
He tried to get rid of his blue beard
And bitter tears
Near the nearest war
of his country’s
A country that has become
Addicted to wars.
He let his hair grow long
His dark skinned face
Was on the verge of revealing nightly starvation
At noontime, his children were panting
After a lifeless Dinar..
His final poem
Was laden with the grief of the world
But that world did not care about what was going on..
In his only room
The smell of onions mixed
With the smell of the empty pots;
Was the most beautiful memory in a country
It's his life
That he wanted to be
A part of his ration card,
His birth record
And the rest of his poems.
“Woe to the ruin!”
Removing the dust from a painting of him
Made, in a stolen moment,
By a painter who died two wars ago.
He was laughing
And holding a drink with an innocent cheer
As, above his head, birds in the somber colors of the sky were flying
Suggesting the he was important
And his life was of interest to others.
He flicked his tears
And on the tile of his room floor
He saw wars reproduce,
He saw his children go to a new war
He saw his wife coughing her years
And said to himself
Was not my idea
It is a naive game.
Let me keep on this road
At the end, I may find paper
For my friends to wrap me with
Like the oldest statue
Standing on the way of passers-by
And the country!!!!!!
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
* Riadh Al-Ghareeb is a poet from Iraq
Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2014
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