An Attempt to Voice
Adeeb Kamal Ad-Deen
Are the occasions of my loss and exhaustion
So few to justify, my voice, that you also
Become lost and exhausted?
You, my voice, were my throat’s nightingale.
Now as you have soared further away
My throat has appeared to my eye-witness
As a cold cage of iron.
Nobody can help me in my disaster.
The doctors remained silent.
The medicines became mute.
The prayer trembled between my fingers.
The only thing on the phone line was my tears
Shouting: hello, hello.
As the pit of my grave deepens more and more
The poetry I write grows deeper and deeper
What an irony!
Friends, Pay attention!
The nightingale flew away
And the crow laughed.
When will you come down?
Tell me: when will you come down?
Or am in front of me
Find myself dying member by member?
My voice, the bird, come down!
I will not whip you as a slave.
I will not let you thirst to death
Nor shout at you as a mad man.
I will not ask you to sing needlessly nor to protest
Nor to part with the text
When the text gets stupid.
Light down, Bird!
I will not let Sophocles pull out his creatures’ eyes
On the stage of my blood
Nor At-Tawhidi 1 burn his books every night
In the desert of my dream
Nor Al–Maarri 2 die alone
As I do
And as you do.
1: At-Tawhidi is a great Arabic philosopher who burns his book at the end of his life.
2: Al–Maarri is a famous, blind Arabic poet.
( T M )
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