Let them bomb, you are not a target
let them rage, you are far more enraged
Let them mobilize, you know that well
The most terrifying are the most fearful
***
Richer, but more miserable
Weaker, but more brazen
Hidden, but more obvious
Ashamed, but more distinguished
They have iron and fire
But they are weaker than straw
***
They fear the possibility of death
But you are more accustomed to death
With thoughts I am tempted
With decisions I am passionate
Because they are for their desires
But you are more expensive for people
***
That is why you encounter armies
Of empty, decorated space
They divide the part
They classify the classified
They intensify on them
Guarding, you are more intense
***
As if the unseen suddenly calls your name,
Like volcanoes, you emerge in a fiery claim.
You descend like a holiday, bloom like spring,
Stretch like meadows, where summers take wing.
You reach into every root, pulse in every note,
Unveil the secrets in the symphony you wrote.
What anticipation says about you: you bend, you sway,
What stars whisper: you relax and find your own way.
Time races on, never pausing to take a breath,
Yet you don’t stop, pressing forward, defying death.
You pull the sun like a tail, and night’s cloak you wear,
As the world keeps turning, you stand without a care.
***
I was embarrassed by those who said: expensive
And those who say: extreme
The middle is death
More severe, they called it: softer
Because they are satisfied with distraction
And they describe the lie
And with you, cowardice is cowardice
There is nothing more callous and cunning in it
And with you, shame is more shameful
A face, if it appears, is more extreme
***
O “Mustafa”: what secret
Under the torn shirt
Are you more sensitive to a glance
Because your back is thinner?
Are you more fertile in heart
Because your house is more cramped?
Are you more abundant in dream
Because your face is more refined?
***
Why are you the most refined
Of all the smartest and most educated?
From every beat you sing
They cry from a thin insult
You are the most guided to the horizon
With the corridors I know
***
With the options I know
And to the oddities I reveal
With the tasks I proceed
And to the details I summarize
So there is no distraction behind you
Nor a drain in front of you
So you don’t lament from distance
Nor do you regret closeness
Because your goal is higher
Because your purpose is more honorable
Because your chest is my hope
Because your pocket is cleaner
***
They may break you, but you
Will rise stronger and more sensitive
Did you not climb a tree
Except to be thrown and plucked?
They may kill you, but you will come
From the end of death, the strongest
Because your root is growing
Because your course is more refined
Because your death has revived
More than a million years of luxury
So let them all throw you
For you are the only one who throws
***
They will be destroyed, and yours will be purified
In you, that which is not destroyed
Because you are the whole, individually
How, not how
O “Mustafa”, O book
From every heart, you are composed
And O time that will come
That will erase the false time
Memory – a short story by Entesar Asseri – translated by Hatem Al-Shamea
