The Garment of a Lonely Birth

 

by Eman Al-Saeedi

translated by Hatem Al-Shamea

 

The Garment of a Lonely Birth

 

To my dear homeland.

 

Do not wear out the garment of our only birth..

Thus,

I imagine my one true friend whispering in my ear.

My friend,

Whose heart distances have adorned,

Wears anxiety.

It wears him, but in his heart the poem did not sleep.

 

Do you know, my friend,

How existence and end unite?

How has life wasted its dew cloistered in the monastery of life?

I, my friend,

Am a death bound by life.

An intermediate life of wretched anticipation.

 

Seriously,

I think to send you a picture of a coffin,

And a thorny linguistic field.

 

I didn’t tell you before,

That I ignited embers on my lips,

And cried long with the melting moon.

I didn’t tell you,

That in the moment I dread recalling,

Whiteness overwhelms my vision.

 

So how can I return cheerful after my torments?

Oh my friend,

What agony resides me?

What stubborn tear suspects me?

And what textual message is this standing at my door since

The unknown was shut to my supplications?

 

Where are the laughs that were moons here?

And the talks that courted my youth about the old age of years?

Where did I find you, my friend?

My path is long,

And I have no candle, and no homeland.

 

A New Home – Nabila Al-Sheikh – trans. Hatem Al-Shamea