تويت
The Music of the Body
By: Moaen shalabia
On that night
Of July
And the rites of Sufi passion
On the bed of grief you are passing
The idea has been cut off
On the table of discarded love
And I am a poet from "Awghareet"
I lean on my thousand hesitations
For the retracted body
In the blaze of winding music
For the mythical spirit
For cupbearers
For the navel dancing
on the courtyards of resurrection
For the two breasts
For the motionless hunger
Behind the enmity of passions
For the two eyes is the sea
For the two lips
Where there is the smile
The superstition of the edge of phases
For the swimming hip
in the expanses of goodness
For her
She carries me over the dust of the wooden café
And she stretches out her hand
fleeing the part of the night that is for kisses
She was cutting it off from me
Years of travel
Books, generations, rivers
Cities, walls, sorrows
But the promise was!!!
The departure of the spirit
By: Moaen shalabia
I saw you painting the dream
between the fire and the night,
And moons above the night,
And grief behind the spirit,
And the colour of grief likes the twilight.
I saw you carrying the sea in your eyes expatriate,
And plates of faith and disbelief,
I asked the sea if it know its carrier,
The sea replies waves of tiredness.
I saw you silent dumping the grief on your lips,
You don’t ask now about my drowning?
You said: "yes",
Why the river doesn't flow as we like,
We don’t want to pass the love like leaves.
I saw you hugging the thorn,
And the thorn is wounding you
Then I said: enough
Of the thorn's wounds and anxiety
You are incessantly behind my grief and in it
Can you stand the grief of departure?
I’m exhausted with grief, I don’t know
Whether the spirit leaving my body
Will obliterate this grief.
Trances
BY: Moaen shalabia
1:
In every city
on this earth
I see her face in the crowd
some women become more tempting
in the crowd.
2:
Two lovers in thier sleepwear
waiting for salvation
whose
star had faded.
3:
Everytime I see you barefooted
I scream in my loudest silence:
Oh time, stop
How beautiful...
4:
The room is empty except for two bodies
and a hearth of desire
one passed away
and the other is waiting.
5:
Every woman touched by my fire
longed to come back again
but..
with her fleeing shadows.
6:
Two alabaster moons your eyes
and the body is a memory of fire
why then did the sea senses shed
under the rain?
7:
When winter sleeps in your bed
do you feel the warmth
the way I love?!
so I desire what's desired
of the sea hidden
in your hands.
8:
No one is in depth.. no
no one is in crust.. no
Jupiter behind my shadow
and the butterflies my absence
and the seas my obsessions on earth
oh homeland of wind
oh my homeland.
9:
No poetry drips from the cold winds of my heart
as long as I have a grave hanging upon
our absent key
and how is the singer to sing
when the curtains of sadness are hung
if one side of them softens
the other dries.
VISION
By: Moaen shalabia
I assumed my friend
That reading poetry
Could be an amazement or a fancy or a whisper of fire
And I assumed my gorgeous
That writing poetry
Could be a thought or a vigor or a drive
And I assumed my love
That femininity
Could be smoothness of touch or trembling astonishment
And I assumed my princess
That your savage embrace
Could be sin itself or a dose of amber
And I assumed that sadness my precious
Is a country like all the mirrors and all the seas
And I assumed my murderer, that death is wrapped
In all the aspects of coming of age, and it could fill the void
And I assumed that passion my inspirer, is a language
That comes swiftly without waiting
And I assumed that dreaming my mistress
Is an old obsession that never stops spinning
And that the soul and that the body my captivator
Is a flute in the tenderness of the day.
However, I have never assumed
That you leaving forever
Would terminate the place and end the time
And that my ascension into my abyss
Would be for love
Even if it was suicide.
Wave is return
BY: Moaen Shalabia
Why should I forgive, friends?
should I ?!
Does any one of you carry the morning baggage?
Does any one who can read the catastrophe in my grief,
And participate in the death of the night the suffer of darkness,
Tearing an artery in the entrails of my time
There was a flower which grows in my heart
There was a tulip which grew in my soul
My life has gone… I wish it had not.
A child was growing in my heart,
She was fidgeting in the womb of sorrow… suffering
A female was in my soul
Painting the wings of the sun and the remains of a smile
But the arrows of those whom I love
Were shut, in morning, to my soul and… hit the target.!
What should I do, friends?
Does any one of you carry the worries of our nation?
Does any one of you read the books of the sea,
And sip the remains of coal from the bottom of the cup?
The child says:
What should I do in order to turn me pregnant !?
What do I write, strangers?
Is there any one of you who can understand what I may write?
I might write all your sins
And hug my torments at noon
Revolution,
Revolution,
Revolution...
What should I do, my sweethearts?
Does any one of you know the taste of kissing
The salty wound on your breasts
Does any one of you know how the love will be
On the bridge of return?
Does any one of you know
how the soul goes around the tent?
Does any one of you know
The hunger of the heart, the passion of a suicide.?
What should I do, my beloved ones?
It is a mirage.. a mirage
Continue your watery dreams
Continue the wife's dream
Cause tomorrow you will hug these wave
Wave is return,
Wave is return,
Wave is return.
By: Moaen shalabia
On that night
Of July
And the rites of Sufi passion
On the bed of grief you are passing
The idea has been cut off
On the table of discarded love
And I am a poet from "Awghareet"
I lean on my thousand hesitations
For the retracted body
In the blaze of winding music
For the mythical spirit
For cupbearers
For the navel dancing
on the courtyards of resurrection
For the two breasts
For the motionless hunger
Behind the enmity of passions
For the two eyes is the sea
For the two lips
Where there is the smile
The superstition of the edge of phases
For the swimming hip
in the expanses of goodness
For her
She carries me over the dust of the wooden café
And she stretches out her hand
fleeing the part of the night that is for kisses
She was cutting it off from me
Years of travel
Books, generations, rivers
Cities, walls, sorrows
But the promise was!!!
The departure of the spirit
By: Moaen shalabia
I saw you painting the dream
between the fire and the night,
And moons above the night,
And grief behind the spirit,
And the colour of grief likes the twilight.
I saw you carrying the sea in your eyes expatriate,
And plates of faith and disbelief,
I asked the sea if it know its carrier,
The sea replies waves of tiredness.
I saw you silent dumping the grief on your lips,
You don’t ask now about my drowning?
You said: "yes",
Why the river doesn't flow as we like,
We don’t want to pass the love like leaves.
I saw you hugging the thorn,
And the thorn is wounding you
Then I said: enough
Of the thorn's wounds and anxiety
You are incessantly behind my grief and in it
Can you stand the grief of departure?
I’m exhausted with grief, I don’t know
Whether the spirit leaving my body
Will obliterate this grief.
Trances
BY: Moaen shalabia
1:
In every city
on this earth
I see her face in the crowd
some women become more tempting
in the crowd.
2:
Two lovers in thier sleepwear
waiting for salvation
whose
star had faded.
3:
Everytime I see you barefooted
I scream in my loudest silence:
Oh time, stop
How beautiful...
4:
The room is empty except for two bodies
and a hearth of desire
one passed away
and the other is waiting.
5:
Every woman touched by my fire
longed to come back again
but..
with her fleeing shadows.
6:
Two alabaster moons your eyes
and the body is a memory of fire
why then did the sea senses shed
under the rain?
7:
When winter sleeps in your bed
do you feel the warmth
the way I love?!
so I desire what's desired
of the sea hidden
in your hands.
8:
No one is in depth.. no
no one is in crust.. no
Jupiter behind my shadow
and the butterflies my absence
and the seas my obsessions on earth
oh homeland of wind
oh my homeland.
9:
No poetry drips from the cold winds of my heart
as long as I have a grave hanging upon
our absent key
and how is the singer to sing
when the curtains of sadness are hung
if one side of them softens
the other dries.
VISION
By: Moaen shalabia
I assumed my friend
That reading poetry
Could be an amazement or a fancy or a whisper of fire
And I assumed my gorgeous
That writing poetry
Could be a thought or a vigor or a drive
And I assumed my love
That femininity
Could be smoothness of touch or trembling astonishment
And I assumed my princess
That your savage embrace
Could be sin itself or a dose of amber
And I assumed that sadness my precious
Is a country like all the mirrors and all the seas
And I assumed my murderer, that death is wrapped
In all the aspects of coming of age, and it could fill the void
And I assumed that passion my inspirer, is a language
That comes swiftly without waiting
And I assumed that dreaming my mistress
Is an old obsession that never stops spinning
And that the soul and that the body my captivator
Is a flute in the tenderness of the day.
However, I have never assumed
That you leaving forever
Would terminate the place and end the time
And that my ascension into my abyss
Would be for love
Even if it was suicide.
Wave is return
BY: Moaen Shalabia
Why should I forgive, friends?
should I ?!
Does any one of you carry the morning baggage?
Does any one who can read the catastrophe in my grief,
And participate in the death of the night the suffer of darkness,
Tearing an artery in the entrails of my time
There was a flower which grows in my heart
There was a tulip which grew in my soul
My life has gone… I wish it had not.
A child was growing in my heart,
She was fidgeting in the womb of sorrow… suffering
A female was in my soul
Painting the wings of the sun and the remains of a smile
But the arrows of those whom I love
Were shut, in morning, to my soul and… hit the target.!
What should I do, friends?
Does any one of you carry the worries of our nation?
Does any one of you read the books of the sea,
And sip the remains of coal from the bottom of the cup?
The child says:
What should I do in order to turn me pregnant !?
What do I write, strangers?
Is there any one of you who can understand what I may write?
I might write all your sins
And hug my torments at noon
Revolution,
Revolution,
Revolution...
What should I do, my sweethearts?
Does any one of you know the taste of kissing
The salty wound on your breasts
Does any one of you know how the love will be
On the bridge of return?
Does any one of you know
how the soul goes around the tent?
Does any one of you know
The hunger of the heart, the passion of a suicide.?
What should I do, my beloved ones?
It is a mirage.. a mirage
Continue your watery dreams
Continue the wife's dream
Cause tomorrow you will hug these wave
Wave is return,
Wave is return,
Wave is return.
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