A Homeland for a Bleeding Rose

by Eman Al-Saeedi

translated by Hatem Al-Shamea

A Homeland for a Bleeding Rose

In my homeland,

The fragrance bleeds like the eye of a needle.

The needle that knits the garment of the moment, sings.

It sings like a nun bathing for her prayers, then bowing to the sunset.

Behold,

Heavens gaze from a narrow balcony, like an ocean.

A wave weeps its blueness, like a rebel gathering his voice.

The elated unknown like death, searching for a hymn to propagate as cloud, bullet,

And perhaps a grave expanding for tragedy.

The distances of Jordan,

Saturated with love. There, two lovers exchange scented words,

Like missives, the nectar of a kiss, and a white embrace.

While the homeland planting the virtue of light, sits in darkness.

In the rubble,

Images beg for speech.

The stray clouds in the horizon, scatter.

Scatter, and the pulse of cities, a wailing wind.

The wind that peels the body of civilizations, ignites the eye of gunpowder.

“`

Can it then wither in the palm of a homeland of roses?

“`

In Proof that I Am Not Dead – Yaseen Al-Bukali – trans. Hatem Al-Shamea