Oh, dwellers on the shelf of absence
by Naji Atayh
translated by Hatem Al-Shamea
Oh, dwellers on the shelf of absence, is it not
Time for your return, after this long neglect?
Long have we stood upon the reasons for your return,
Our spirits behind us, savoring the pain.
How long shall time’s wandering accompany you,
Like madmen, oh our companions of old?
I fear that things will lose their form,
And find no hand or foot around them.
I fear that oblivion will cloud my memory,
Or that my existence will become like nothingness.
The mansions of dreams, their structure lies in ruin,
And every step towards reality has met with collision.
This land, where corruption has wreaked havoc,
In it, every right that was once respected has vanished.
From it, the power of the eye has turned away, as it sits
On the sidewalk, selling bread and pens,
As if it had never laid its head
On the ground of honor, nor reached for the heights of nobility.
Time has brought forth evil, its hand has closed,
Either to spread ugliness or to spill blood.
Do not ask patience to restrain its breaths,
For the sea has not concealed a secret as it has concealed it.
In an instant, addiction stole hearts,
Revealing enough weakness to be defeated.
We are those who stood firm in rising,
On our names, when the situation was heating up.
We fear not war upon our homeland,
Nor do we fear the expanse of deprivation,
Nor that nothingness will consume us.
But we fear waking up to a Yemen,
Before us, burying customs and values.
Do well by those you have raised, oh my father,
Lest kindness return to you as vengeance.
Oh, clay pure in the palace of the soul,
It passed over my open wound, and it healed.
With your steps, the world embraced its smile,
No day remained sullen-faced when it smiled.
If the fingers of the wound bite their regret,
Do not ask me why I refuse regret.
If justice has fled its homeland,
How can we defend our pages from accusations?
In Proof that I Am Not Dead – Yaseen Al-Bukali – trans. Hatem Al-Shamea
