Fire and Sinbad
Adeeb Kamal Ad-Deen
Whose fire is that surrounding us
As the torches surround a naked witch?
Is it Hell's fire or Magi's fire?
Is it yearning's fire or Al-Bassos fire *?
During the travels of my great illusion
I tore up the dot of love.
In it I found the blank space as white as death
Or as black as the sun of a killed feast.
The letter is my heart's orchard and my blood's apple.
The letter is my master,
My blind old man who rolls me
From one mountain to another
From one desert to another
From a drowning boat to another burning
With wonderful beauty.
The drum is my blood.
The sea is my brother.
The travel is my sister.
The fire is my mother.
The letter is my sweetheart.
But who are you
You who keep screaming all the time: "Help! Help! "
Are you my son or my father?
Miserable is Sinbad
For he fights boredom and death.
As for me, I have to fight boredom,
Death and fire.
Yes, I have to eat fire every morning
And cling to a drowning letter
To reach a land drowning every night
And floating every morning
Like Sinbad who became bored with himself
And with his home address.
* It is a long pre-Islamic tribal war.
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