Adeeb Kamal Ad-Deen
The stork of my childhood
Flew farther and farther.
But the meeting with it
Remained as a dream growing inside me
Like a growing fire in the crater of the volcano.
Alas! my lost women.
Alas! my masks that go on uncovering me.
Alas! my years that follow one another
Meaninglessly or almost meaninglessly.
Alas! my nakedness that surrounded me
In times of black chairs
Dreams to fly lessen every day
Until they become as small as a sand grain.
What makes me write to you my contemporary Iliad?
So that I can show you my orphanhood.
Uncover your miserliness
So that I can show my date palm.
Uncover your ambiguity and plots
So that I can show you my clearness and naivety.
Who fell in the sea, the sea of letters.
So he drowned until the letters wept for it.
I am no more than a monk
So he remained trembling all his life.
The stork is still hovering around my heart.
My heart which the dream to fly has confiscated.
So what will I do
I who have no hands to speak with
Nor legs to fly with
Nor lips to remember with
Nor a memory for practising magic
Nor magic for catching my wonderful stork?
Poems Pictures News Address Home English Connect
( T M )