تويت
يقولون مال الحلال ما يضيع
نشرتها في مدونتي حتى أطمئن عليها من الضياع والسرقة
لولا مؤلف ذلك الكتاب الذي ذكرته في مشاركة سابقة : https://almolltaqa.com/vb/node/3645071
ما كنت علمت بها ولما كنت انتبهت وبحثت عن تراجمي المفقودة
حتى أنني نسيت تلك التراجم فقد دخلت ألف دوامة ودوامة منذ ذلك الحين ( 2013 ) شهر سبتمر ..
ولأنه تعرض حاسوبي لهجمتين فايروسيتين ransom attack وانمحت جميع الملفات التي كانت في داخله
فنسيت كل شيء ولم أعد أسأل عن شيء
تمكنت من استرجاع بعض من تلك الملفات , وفي الوقت نفسه قسم كبير من تلك الملفات تعرض للتشويه فأعدت تحميله مجددا أو فقدته نهائيا
أما ملفاتي وخصوصا ( تراجمي ) التي لم يكن لدي نسخ احتياط منها - وبالذات تلك التي كانت محفوظة بملفات وورد فقد ذهبت أدراج الرياح
وهذه أربعة من تلك القصائد .. ( اليوم فقط عثرت عليها )
هنا : https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/myths-2/
لكن أقول خلف الله عليهم ذكروا اسمي مع العلم لا أعرفهم جماعة الموقع ولم أكن أنا الناشر
ولم يطلب أي منهم استئذان مني ....
لكن كيف وجدوا تراجمي هذا لا أعرفه أو لا أعرف كيف ؟؟
نشرتها في مدونتي حتى أطمئن عليها من الضياع والسرقة
لولا مؤلف ذلك الكتاب الذي ذكرته في مشاركة سابقة : https://almolltaqa.com/vb/node/3645071
ما كنت علمت بها ولما كنت انتبهت وبحثت عن تراجمي المفقودة
حتى أنني نسيت تلك التراجم فقد دخلت ألف دوامة ودوامة منذ ذلك الحين ( 2013 ) شهر سبتمر ..
ولأنه تعرض حاسوبي لهجمتين فايروسيتين ransom attack وانمحت جميع الملفات التي كانت في داخله
فنسيت كل شيء ولم أعد أسأل عن شيء
تمكنت من استرجاع بعض من تلك الملفات , وفي الوقت نفسه قسم كبير من تلك الملفات تعرض للتشويه فأعدت تحميله مجددا أو فقدته نهائيا
أما ملفاتي وخصوصا ( تراجمي ) التي لم يكن لدي نسخ احتياط منها - وبالذات تلك التي كانت محفوظة بملفات وورد فقد ذهبت أدراج الرياح
وهذه أربعة من تلك القصائد .. ( اليوم فقط عثرت عليها )
هنا : https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/myths-2/
لكن أقول خلف الله عليهم ذكروا اسمي مع العلم لا أعرفهم جماعة الموقع ولم أكن أنا الناشر
ولم يطلب أي منهم استئذان مني ....
لكن كيف وجدوا تراجمي هذا لا أعرفه أو لا أعرف كيف ؟؟
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
1. Myths
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Translated by: Mohammad Mahmud Ahmad
أساطير من حشرجات الزمان
Myths derived the death rattling moments…
Previously were woven by shabby hand…
They were related through dark abysmal period
Two dead men sang its tune…
Myths as if desert covered with mirage
And remaining of shooting star glimpses there…
Throwing its light, I see my way
It has crossing point with the shadow of a loaf of bread…
There you had glanced to me behind your muddy furnace…
The column of thick smoke hinders our sight not to see.
Vainly you wait me beyond the veil of the smoke…
Hopelessly moment and the meting occasion is just delusion.
And two lovers were aimless losing their comfort…
Myths as if the sharpened knives they are…
They were covered with wrecked people blood…
Many times were unsheathed on the tyrannies faces…
Many times ago since the tyrannies oppressed people…
The say it is the revealing of the sky…
If people listen to prophets,
No catastrophic ordeal sends its loud laughters …
And the shabby odious myth rarely could be related…
Centuries after centuries passed carried the bitter poison…
Its bitter echo sparkles as if fierce furious fire…
Can this intolerance passion stop by cool hand touch?
Can this rely on an old myth and an icy phantom yearning stop?
A wizard woman pushed on sand heap her last hopeful question.
Desirous eyes tempt themselves straying to the sky.
They looked about any hopeful way…
It was rite of prayer and supplication
A prayer purges chastely the God face…
And the lips were advocated willingly to thy Creator
==
2. The Drowned Temple by Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
المعبد الغريق
خيول الريح تصهل والمرافىء يلمس الغرب
Horses nigh and harbours wait the sunset
Masts reflect rosy sunbeams blood alike!
Lanterns glimmer behind shabby tavern widows
The drink makes him as if an idol
Motionless he fears from the bottle…
He eavesdrops to the sound of choppy waves
Coming through the tavern window,
Shivery pop-eyed he talks on whispering…
Old aged man gulps cup after cup
His visage as if dark thicket of jungles
Moon's rays danced over the lake…
They touch kindly the posts of the vacant temple
And passed through its door willingly…
Scattered bushes and jungle seem at last dawn
Light shadows were consumed by the lake water…
Thousand years ago as if he was rooted there
He tried to spit the warm water once and again
When the mouth was opened,
It seems as if crater shivering from the fever…
Boling and fizzing lavas drift the stones.
Erupts throwing its blazes inside the lake.
Scattering out fishes and blood outside the water.
Poisoned foams encircled the water.
Frontside of the fevered temple echoed its eruptive sound.
When the firebrands were extinguished inside the stoves,
The gold appears glimmering…
Pearls and corundum are disclosing column of lights.
And the clouds disclose the stars…
A crocodile rolling over the water then climbed the wall.
In order to guard its permanent treasure against dark and light.
An octopus climbed up the lighthouse to watch the Pope.
An eternal daybreak settled on its crooked eyes …
Despite of night changes sequentially.
Still its eyes mock the time…
Present there no day he was absent…
Why does this mortal human seem snobbish?
Who he adheres one's hopes to unknown future.
Didn't he live for thousand years?
If only he notices the creatures passing the eternal node!
If only he saw the turtles how they crushing the universe!
Caesar warriors alike invaded the world one day…
Their shields prevent the deadly arrows of time…
The survivor one is only who can pass the eternally barriers…
The only one can shatter the point of weakness.
Then he will keep silent after the success.
Lives eternally life forever on the sadly eyes…
Thousand worldly treasures there were drowned…
Treasures can satisfy the hunger of thousand children.
Treasures can cure and root up many diseases…
Treasures can save thousand wrecked people from tyrant…
Treasures if they were well distributed,
They can remove away the phantom of poverty…
Is all this money exists in the world of the slaves?
While they were staying under bonds cannot release.
Cuffed necks suffer the melancholy disease…
The water in the middle of lake as if it hinders the time…
It can reach neither the bottom nor rooms.
The door's lock as if it was painted with unknown talisman.
Sleepless, aware always it is!
No death can limit that circled abundant present…
Night prayer of clergymen as if it is inspiring to the water…
Water floods fluently inside the rooms of temple…
It is obvious that 'Olies' did not return home yet…
And his flapping sail still conflicts the boiling waves…
He calculated the months until he was bored.
Alas! The wrecked man 'Olies'
Bad misfortune controlled on smiling visage of your wife.
Her visage becomes wrinkled as the dried wood…
What do you have to return?
What waits you to return?
You struggle the choppy high waves to return home…
Come in, you don't meet only the blue current…
Subdues the breath where you go…
Nor the bird's beak can scratch its waves…
Even the gentle breeze cannot perfume its waves …
Come in, there is monster waits you and excluding the others…
It fears that his red eye maybe bursts in injustice…
And his raw treasures ask about your flapping sail…
Did injured and moribund agony at Teredos not torment thee?
Alas! To the blood that spotted the walls…
And converted its thirsty dust to mud again…
Still dropped pain as if wounds.
Inside human bowls largely was opened…
Cries toward the sky
What sound that walls and windows resounding it is!
It was done for the sake of adultery of a woman…
And for the purpose of fiery revenge they look for…
The place becomes gory until their moronity was quenched.
Until nowadays, it still harvests…
Cutting heads merciless on awfully style….
As crops were harvested by one scythe
And on the digging holes we see dead corpuses…
Torn bodies and blood still bleeds…
Erupted bowls fling fire covered my country …
Years of starvation and deprivation followed sequentially…
What creature did they throw up?
We have seen the cruel hearts of Tatar…
As wolves, they went down from their dens…
They have kind hearts softer than ragtag and bobtails…
Whom they removed the happiness from children's eyes…
Whom they burned the virgin's nipples with fire…
On the middle of lake or at its edges, what had we feared?
Predacious sharks or crocodiles throw blazes of fire…
The scorpion of the patcher can consume its fragile poison…
And plants on the bodies rosy bloody flowers…
Wounds always flow streams of youthful renewed blood.
Come in to open ways through bhangs by our oars…
And we scatter the stars of darkened night down…
Eyes cannot distinguish between,
Turquoise transparent veil and black streaked pearls garble…
We shall frighten the herder,
We frightened him, until he took away his herds…
Lest the cattle herds drowned, he hurries
Little men who have brave hearts resist forever.
Come in, they call us with their faint drowsy voices…
Smell of death overlaps with assonance of clergymen…
Come in the initiative rein is still in our fist…
Come in to fold its dark before sunshine…
The time of dreaming is gone away…
Fade dreams go away when the gold rings…
Assonant sound as if recitation of clergymen
Gold wanders as if wild animal eats the corpuses…
It drinks the blood of live people
And it steals the food of children…
And their eyes can glimmer again…
And their voice recovers its vigor again…
Destroys all prophecy voices
Oh! Resonance of the bounds it is!
Oh! It is resonance of stopped time…
Shrouds of time touch the hair of children…
And dismantles the kisses of lovers…
It buries into each kiss the taste of odious death…
A resonant tune scrapes the fingers' flesh.
And converts the portions of kidney to mere plates…
Corpuses motionless bodies only the skin remains…
Come in, still the Magi didn't see
We extended our hand toward the glowing star…
Come in still Zeus its vinous colour paints the peak of mountain…
And it still sends falcons, yet their eyes sparkling…
They swoop down to snatch the cupbearers…
Who they carries the blond cups and honey…
Come in to visit the goddess of the lake…
Then we carry it to dwell the top of mountain…
Translated by :Mohammad Mahmud Ahmad
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
Thursday, September 12, 2013
==
3. The Genesis Of Job
سفر التكوين ( سفر أيوب )
لكَ الحـَمدُ مهما إستطالَ البـــلاء ترجمتها ترجمة جديدة منشورة هنا أيضا
Praise is to the Lord! However, the plague becomes extended.
Praise to God! However, the pain becomes overwhelmed.
Praise is to God! Some of calamities are a kind of nobility.
Praise is to Lord! Some of catastrophic things are a type of generosity.
Didst you give this darkness?
Didst you give me this prettiness?
Does the Earth thank the dew of rain?
And got angry if the clouds do not rain again!
Long months, the wounds had serious grief.
They had torn out on my waist as sharp knife.
The pain is ceaseless even if morning shines.
Even the night cannot sweep its agony by demise.
But 'Job' if had shouted yet.
Praise is to Lord! The ordeals are just wet.
Wounds are alike of dearest lover gifts.
Usually I cuddle them as bunches to my chest.
Your gifts on my heart always are present.
Your gifts are acceptable I deny them not.
I control upon my wounds and shout to returnees!
Look! Here I am! Be jealous as you can…
These are the gifts of my dearest lover…
If the fire touches my forehead,
I envisage it as if a kiss was blunged with flame.
The sleepless has a good favour…
Since I can watch your skies until the stars go down sure.
Your sublimity then will touch my window against my head.
The night is pretty however, I hear the owl hooting.
And a sound of horn of a far away car coming…
And sighs of sick-men come from the adjacent beds.
Sure or do not sure, but it is the sound of a woman…
She relates to her baby the stories of her grandfathers…
The forests of the endless night are the clouds.
Apparently, they veiled the front attire of the sky.
They put it directly on the way of the moon…
If Job shouts, his appeal maybe is:
Praise is to you God! You control upon fate.
No longer have you written the recovery Date.
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Translated by: Mohammad Mahmud Ahmad
==
4. The Mother And The Lost Child
الأم والطفلة الضائعة
Please don't go down, the night…
Dead people came along out of the daylight.
Who does return the absent man to his home?
If darkness encamps and there is not great delight.
Ways become yielding after waiting for a long time.
The awful scene of night fears the children.
Until they shiver at both waists and liver…
The glittering meteors when throw their shadow…
Against any figure shades the sheltered one.
Accumulate in front of me in one time…
Whisperings and echoes fallen down.
Your brilliant ray enhances on me…
Like the confusing labyrinth's net is tightened by love.
Comes directly and enters my daughter's heart.
Through my painful wounds and my sighs,
I sent best wishes to me lovely child.
Many bygone years had passed, thousand of moons turned.
The heart still reckons the gusts of any breeze
Reckons the stars one after one
Reckons the bags numbers of the scholars
A sympathetic heart cries if sees,
Children come back from schools and farms.
O, you are the lamp of my heart,
You are my consolatory on my catastrophic days.
I offer to you the water even if I am thirsty.
What can I offer to you?
Can I offer to you my flesh as a food?
I feel sorrowful if I cannot offer..
Alas dear mother, I feel you suffer
O, you are desirous to water..
Dear mother… dear mother…
Drink deeply my fresh blood as water
Come back, all them returned
They were as if land ships kidnapped by the monster's hand
My distracted mother is the less delusionary one..
Contrasted with the unknowable woman who departed..
A wrapped woman to unknown place travels…
At a top of uncertain mountain I cry and laugh
Didn't look out whether the fierce wild sleeps or awakes.
After the last firebrand extinguished on my stove,
And when the night compels the eyes to sleep
The narrator would seek to relate stories..
O, Sindbad, let's to relate your story…
Gradually, the narrator voice faints and vanishes.
My blood longs for to see you..
Fierce grief squeezes me hardly
Ten years had passed as if ten dark eras
Numberless of years passed since I waited..
I shout but no one replies.
Only the breeze comes through the forest replies.
It tears out my scream and drifting back to me..
Aimless I felt as if the ways are obstructed.
Even the night makes its breath prolonged..
Through the grapevines, it gets the smell of its breathing.
And you appear as if the light is absorbed at night..
And you as if the drop of dew touches my face …
Drop after drop are consumed into ground
Due to my incurable diseases, I am desirous to ask..
All shadows and ghosts of night
Ask every creature born...
Do you see my daughter?
Do you hear her footfall?
And when I tread through crowd…
I lessen her on my eyes picture..
Her eyelids as if they were the murmuring of sunshine..
Comes to the brooks to consume the darkness..
I see you on my better people distributed…
If only you are undistributed too much..
Now you are on spring of your age..
The solid extract of its juice
Permeates inside your veins
And snatching your bosoms and your mouth..
And spreads around you the perfume..
Then your wrecked heart becomes between dim and light..
If only one thing can be personified,
It can be both death and exultation present.
This ominous world its cup is full with misery…
Both hunger and diseases would appear significantly
Translated by: Mohammad Mahmud Ahmad
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
==
1. Myths
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Translated by: Mohammad Mahmud Ahmad
أساطير من حشرجات الزمان
Myths derived the death rattling moments…
Previously were woven by shabby hand…
They were related through dark abysmal period
Two dead men sang its tune…
Myths as if desert covered with mirage
And remaining of shooting star glimpses there…
Throwing its light, I see my way
It has crossing point with the shadow of a loaf of bread…
There you had glanced to me behind your muddy furnace…
The column of thick smoke hinders our sight not to see.
Vainly you wait me beyond the veil of the smoke…
Hopelessly moment and the meting occasion is just delusion.
And two lovers were aimless losing their comfort…
Myths as if the sharpened knives they are…
They were covered with wrecked people blood…
Many times were unsheathed on the tyrannies faces…
Many times ago since the tyrannies oppressed people…
The say it is the revealing of the sky…
If people listen to prophets,
No catastrophic ordeal sends its loud laughters …
And the shabby odious myth rarely could be related…
Centuries after centuries passed carried the bitter poison…
Its bitter echo sparkles as if fierce furious fire…
Can this intolerance passion stop by cool hand touch?
Can this rely on an old myth and an icy phantom yearning stop?
A wizard woman pushed on sand heap her last hopeful question.
Desirous eyes tempt themselves straying to the sky.
They looked about any hopeful way…
It was rite of prayer and supplication
A prayer purges chastely the God face…
And the lips were advocated willingly to thy Creator
==
2. The Drowned Temple by Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
المعبد الغريق
خيول الريح تصهل والمرافىء يلمس الغرب
Horses nigh and harbours wait the sunset
Masts reflect rosy sunbeams blood alike!
Lanterns glimmer behind shabby tavern widows
The drink makes him as if an idol
Motionless he fears from the bottle…
He eavesdrops to the sound of choppy waves
Coming through the tavern window,
Shivery pop-eyed he talks on whispering…
Old aged man gulps cup after cup
His visage as if dark thicket of jungles
Moon's rays danced over the lake…
They touch kindly the posts of the vacant temple
And passed through its door willingly…
Scattered bushes and jungle seem at last dawn
Light shadows were consumed by the lake water…
Thousand years ago as if he was rooted there
He tried to spit the warm water once and again
When the mouth was opened,
It seems as if crater shivering from the fever…
Boling and fizzing lavas drift the stones.
Erupts throwing its blazes inside the lake.
Scattering out fishes and blood outside the water.
Poisoned foams encircled the water.
Frontside of the fevered temple echoed its eruptive sound.
When the firebrands were extinguished inside the stoves,
The gold appears glimmering…
Pearls and corundum are disclosing column of lights.
And the clouds disclose the stars…
A crocodile rolling over the water then climbed the wall.
In order to guard its permanent treasure against dark and light.
An octopus climbed up the lighthouse to watch the Pope.
An eternal daybreak settled on its crooked eyes …
Despite of night changes sequentially.
Still its eyes mock the time…
Present there no day he was absent…
Why does this mortal human seem snobbish?
Who he adheres one's hopes to unknown future.
Didn't he live for thousand years?
If only he notices the creatures passing the eternal node!
If only he saw the turtles how they crushing the universe!
Caesar warriors alike invaded the world one day…
Their shields prevent the deadly arrows of time…
The survivor one is only who can pass the eternally barriers…
The only one can shatter the point of weakness.
Then he will keep silent after the success.
Lives eternally life forever on the sadly eyes…
Thousand worldly treasures there were drowned…
Treasures can satisfy the hunger of thousand children.
Treasures can cure and root up many diseases…
Treasures can save thousand wrecked people from tyrant…
Treasures if they were well distributed,
They can remove away the phantom of poverty…
Is all this money exists in the world of the slaves?
While they were staying under bonds cannot release.
Cuffed necks suffer the melancholy disease…
The water in the middle of lake as if it hinders the time…
It can reach neither the bottom nor rooms.
The door's lock as if it was painted with unknown talisman.
Sleepless, aware always it is!
No death can limit that circled abundant present…
Night prayer of clergymen as if it is inspiring to the water…
Water floods fluently inside the rooms of temple…
It is obvious that 'Olies' did not return home yet…
And his flapping sail still conflicts the boiling waves…
He calculated the months until he was bored.
Alas! The wrecked man 'Olies'
Bad misfortune controlled on smiling visage of your wife.
Her visage becomes wrinkled as the dried wood…
What do you have to return?
What waits you to return?
You struggle the choppy high waves to return home…
Come in, you don't meet only the blue current…
Subdues the breath where you go…
Nor the bird's beak can scratch its waves…
Even the gentle breeze cannot perfume its waves …
Come in, there is monster waits you and excluding the others…
It fears that his red eye maybe bursts in injustice…
And his raw treasures ask about your flapping sail…
Did injured and moribund agony at Teredos not torment thee?
Alas! To the blood that spotted the walls…
And converted its thirsty dust to mud again…
Still dropped pain as if wounds.
Inside human bowls largely was opened…
Cries toward the sky
What sound that walls and windows resounding it is!
It was done for the sake of adultery of a woman…
And for the purpose of fiery revenge they look for…
The place becomes gory until their moronity was quenched.
Until nowadays, it still harvests…
Cutting heads merciless on awfully style….
As crops were harvested by one scythe
And on the digging holes we see dead corpuses…
Torn bodies and blood still bleeds…
Erupted bowls fling fire covered my country …
Years of starvation and deprivation followed sequentially…
What creature did they throw up?
We have seen the cruel hearts of Tatar…
As wolves, they went down from their dens…
They have kind hearts softer than ragtag and bobtails…
Whom they removed the happiness from children's eyes…
Whom they burned the virgin's nipples with fire…
On the middle of lake or at its edges, what had we feared?
Predacious sharks or crocodiles throw blazes of fire…
The scorpion of the patcher can consume its fragile poison…
And plants on the bodies rosy bloody flowers…
Wounds always flow streams of youthful renewed blood.
Come in to open ways through bhangs by our oars…
And we scatter the stars of darkened night down…
Eyes cannot distinguish between,
Turquoise transparent veil and black streaked pearls garble…
We shall frighten the herder,
We frightened him, until he took away his herds…
Lest the cattle herds drowned, he hurries
Little men who have brave hearts resist forever.
Come in, they call us with their faint drowsy voices…
Smell of death overlaps with assonance of clergymen…
Come in the initiative rein is still in our fist…
Come in to fold its dark before sunshine…
The time of dreaming is gone away…
Fade dreams go away when the gold rings…
Assonant sound as if recitation of clergymen
Gold wanders as if wild animal eats the corpuses…
It drinks the blood of live people
And it steals the food of children…
And their eyes can glimmer again…
And their voice recovers its vigor again…
Destroys all prophecy voices
Oh! Resonance of the bounds it is!
Oh! It is resonance of stopped time…
Shrouds of time touch the hair of children…
And dismantles the kisses of lovers…
It buries into each kiss the taste of odious death…
A resonant tune scrapes the fingers' flesh.
And converts the portions of kidney to mere plates…
Corpuses motionless bodies only the skin remains…
Come in, still the Magi didn't see
We extended our hand toward the glowing star…
Come in still Zeus its vinous colour paints the peak of mountain…
And it still sends falcons, yet their eyes sparkling…
They swoop down to snatch the cupbearers…
Who they carries the blond cups and honey…
Come in to visit the goddess of the lake…
Then we carry it to dwell the top of mountain…
Translated by :Mohammad Mahmud Ahmad
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
Thursday, September 12, 2013
==
3. The Genesis Of Job
سفر التكوين ( سفر أيوب )
لكَ الحـَمدُ مهما إستطالَ البـــلاء ترجمتها ترجمة جديدة منشورة هنا أيضا
Praise is to the Lord! However, the plague becomes extended.
Praise to God! However, the pain becomes overwhelmed.
Praise is to God! Some of calamities are a kind of nobility.
Praise is to Lord! Some of catastrophic things are a type of generosity.
Didst you give this darkness?
Didst you give me this prettiness?
Does the Earth thank the dew of rain?
And got angry if the clouds do not rain again!
Long months, the wounds had serious grief.
They had torn out on my waist as sharp knife.
The pain is ceaseless even if morning shines.
Even the night cannot sweep its agony by demise.
But 'Job' if had shouted yet.
Praise is to Lord! The ordeals are just wet.
Wounds are alike of dearest lover gifts.
Usually I cuddle them as bunches to my chest.
Your gifts on my heart always are present.
Your gifts are acceptable I deny them not.
I control upon my wounds and shout to returnees!
Look! Here I am! Be jealous as you can…
These are the gifts of my dearest lover…
If the fire touches my forehead,
I envisage it as if a kiss was blunged with flame.
The sleepless has a good favour…
Since I can watch your skies until the stars go down sure.
Your sublimity then will touch my window against my head.
The night is pretty however, I hear the owl hooting.
And a sound of horn of a far away car coming…
And sighs of sick-men come from the adjacent beds.
Sure or do not sure, but it is the sound of a woman…
She relates to her baby the stories of her grandfathers…
The forests of the endless night are the clouds.
Apparently, they veiled the front attire of the sky.
They put it directly on the way of the moon…
If Job shouts, his appeal maybe is:
Praise is to you God! You control upon fate.
No longer have you written the recovery Date.
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Translated by: Mohammad Mahmud Ahmad
==
4. The Mother And The Lost Child
الأم والطفلة الضائعة
Please don't go down, the night…
Dead people came along out of the daylight.
Who does return the absent man to his home?
If darkness encamps and there is not great delight.
Ways become yielding after waiting for a long time.
The awful scene of night fears the children.
Until they shiver at both waists and liver…
The glittering meteors when throw their shadow…
Against any figure shades the sheltered one.
Accumulate in front of me in one time…
Whisperings and echoes fallen down.
Your brilliant ray enhances on me…
Like the confusing labyrinth's net is tightened by love.
Comes directly and enters my daughter's heart.
Through my painful wounds and my sighs,
I sent best wishes to me lovely child.
Many bygone years had passed, thousand of moons turned.
The heart still reckons the gusts of any breeze
Reckons the stars one after one
Reckons the bags numbers of the scholars
A sympathetic heart cries if sees,
Children come back from schools and farms.
O, you are the lamp of my heart,
You are my consolatory on my catastrophic days.
I offer to you the water even if I am thirsty.
What can I offer to you?
Can I offer to you my flesh as a food?
I feel sorrowful if I cannot offer..
Alas dear mother, I feel you suffer
O, you are desirous to water..
Dear mother… dear mother…
Drink deeply my fresh blood as water
Come back, all them returned
They were as if land ships kidnapped by the monster's hand
My distracted mother is the less delusionary one..
Contrasted with the unknowable woman who departed..
A wrapped woman to unknown place travels…
At a top of uncertain mountain I cry and laugh
Didn't look out whether the fierce wild sleeps or awakes.
After the last firebrand extinguished on my stove,
And when the night compels the eyes to sleep
The narrator would seek to relate stories..
O, Sindbad, let's to relate your story…
Gradually, the narrator voice faints and vanishes.
My blood longs for to see you..
Fierce grief squeezes me hardly
Ten years had passed as if ten dark eras
Numberless of years passed since I waited..
I shout but no one replies.
Only the breeze comes through the forest replies.
It tears out my scream and drifting back to me..
Aimless I felt as if the ways are obstructed.
Even the night makes its breath prolonged..
Through the grapevines, it gets the smell of its breathing.
And you appear as if the light is absorbed at night..
And you as if the drop of dew touches my face …
Drop after drop are consumed into ground
Due to my incurable diseases, I am desirous to ask..
All shadows and ghosts of night
Ask every creature born...
Do you see my daughter?
Do you hear her footfall?
And when I tread through crowd…
I lessen her on my eyes picture..
Her eyelids as if they were the murmuring of sunshine..
Comes to the brooks to consume the darkness..
I see you on my better people distributed…
If only you are undistributed too much..
Now you are on spring of your age..
The solid extract of its juice
Permeates inside your veins
And snatching your bosoms and your mouth..
And spreads around you the perfume..
Then your wrecked heart becomes between dim and light..
If only one thing can be personified,
It can be both death and exultation present.
This ominous world its cup is full with misery…
Both hunger and diseases would appear significantly
Translated by: Mohammad Mahmud Ahmad
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
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