طيوب اللغات

Reflections on ends

من أعمال التشكيلية الليبية .. مريم العباني
من أعمال التشكيلية الليبية .. مريم العباني

 
both ends
of the night are luminous.
both ends
of the day are gloomy.
there is no way to flee.
 
that should be true
If wise or sober.
that can only be true,
pretending philosophy
of these earthy cerebrations,
the culmination of hope and peace.
 
So, let’s sing or dance
lets tell some sweet lies
lets mourn and weep
magnify our deepest fears
and secrets to be well-hidden.
 
as life and death
both fall out
in the same place.

 
Farewell old times
 
1
Do we still remember?
the recalcitrant skies,
raining only after
the thunderous bangs
rumbling
the exploding prayers,
someone was eagerly sending.
 
from the damp void
of a cave
the toothed round rocks are
cogs turning
in the mind of the anchorite.
 
from a stray boat
in overwhelming
surging waters.
 
so plangent.
 
Or maybe the olden scene of
indigence :
a hungry poor farmer
In arid soils
cursing everything while
his beloved child’s heart
pulsing those abstruse bangs
in fear.
 
that glorious sky
the pantheon of gods
now a terrifying theater
of hypersonic winged crafts.
 
I admit it is dethroned.
 
2
 
Do we still remember?
the paper when was white,
servile, and seducing.
 
the pens of the stray,
their fatal whirls
gravid with
light and pain.
 
the palms imputed
out of the context.
 
now what?
cuffs of apps
glass and pixels
ash and dust.
 
3
 
do we still remember?
the embellished doorknobs,
the shiny color of the chairs,
in the guest room.
the fatty smells
of the carpets,
the obsolete cold look,
of that static black and white
portraits of fathers
and grandfathers,
perished a long time ago,
but still dominant.
 
in the room.
you quiver.
 
that stagnant plastic air
emanates and prowl
to wipe you out.
 
4
 
do we remember
how they stole the sun?
do we think about it?
I am still wrathful.
how his could happen
In front of our nose.
but that was inevitable
when I think about it.
 
we were in the dark
in a long despotic umbra,
and that was preordained.
 
may we had forgotten
its smile, its helical dimples
the warmth of its radiating colors,
the engrossing shades
it makes with things,
the afternoons tranquility.
 
may we lost quietism
so it was easy to be convinced
with the alteration.
and we accepted the “double”.
 
that’s abusive.
 
we were madly craving
we were lounging
but blind to heed the warning of
infringement.
 
So, avoid this retribution.
this fake turbid coziness,
made up of crushed skulls
and furious Gods.
 
Please… libertines,
cease and desist this
silent acquiescence,
and let us reveal
the real sun inside us.

يمكن الاستماع إلى القصيدة: هـــنـــــا

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