Bukleb

Labyrinth

By Ghazi غازي in English, prose, translation No Comments Tags: , , ,

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By: Giuma Bukleb

The room’s window is open on the day.

The day is open on a sky like a wilderness of ash.

In the room is a double bed, that is close to the window that is open on the day light that is open on a sky like a wilderness of ash.

Opposite the double bed, that is close to the window that is open on the day light that is open on a sky like a wilderness of ash, is a small wooden desk with a computer on top.

Beside the small wooden desk with a computer on top, is an old wooden wardrobe without a door.

Beside the old wooden wardrobe without a door is the room’s closed wooden door, with its shiny white paint.

Beside the room’s closed wooden door with its shiny white paint, is a colourless worn-out wooden coat stand.

On the colourless worn-out wooden coat stand, hangs carelessly a dark jacket.

In the inner pocket, the only one, of the dark jacket that hangs carelessly on the colourless worn-out wooden coat stand, is a carefully folded white paper. In the carefully folded white paper, inside the only inner pocket of the dark jacket that hangs carelessly on the colourless worn-out wooden coat stand, is a wedding invitation.

The wedding invitation, in the carefully folded paper, inside the only inner pocket of the dark jacket that hangs carelessly on the colourless worn-out wooden coat stand, isn't addressed to anyone, and I personally don't know how it found its way inside the only inner pocket of my dark jacket, hanging on the colourless worn-out wooden coat stand, beside the room's closed wooden door with its shiny white paint, beside the old wooden wardrobe without a door, beside the small wooden desk with a computer on top, opposite the double bed, close to the room's window, open on the day light, open on a sky like a wilderness of ash?!

On a hot day at Kingston -Upon-Thames

By Ghazi غازي in English, Libya, london, poetry, translation, جمعة بوكليب No Comments Tags: , , , , , , ,

Poem by: Giuma Bukleb

If that part of the river Thames, below “Kingston Bridge”, where the trees are willingly anchored, on both banks,

Had eyes

It might have glanced, on that hour of  the evening, the alertness of my anxiety,

It might have noticed, at the same moment, how the desire of the poem, setting its traps in my blood for the seagulls’ flutter,

And pigeons’ revelation!

If that part of the river Thames, where “Kingston Town” is floating like a paper boat, had eyes

It might have sighted, with astonishment, how my body beats with the fever of the rhythm,

And would have realised how my soul becomes soft and pure,

Like the coo of pigeons!

If that part of the river Thames, in those corners of my memory, where scattered thirsty villages, hang and swing, with insomnia, in the nights of Jabel Nafousa, where Misrata is bleeding from a distance of a breathe of a weddings’ ululations,

Had eyes

It might have hunted some of the brightness of my joy in a sky of fear and clouds!

If that part of the river of my youth, before the Bedouins arrived to the streets of Tripoli on the back of their luxury cars, and shoulder mounted rifles that are hungry for killing,

Had eyes

Walking slowly,

In the time of a bloody Arab spring,

In that spot of the day, in that space, far away from London’s bustle, which is called “Kingston Promenade”, on that very hot day, where trees are willingly anchored, on the Thames banks,

Anxious,

Tentative,

The boat of my life,

Sails

Sorrowfully

Into the bushes of the days..

27/06/2011

Leave (By: Giuma Bukleb)

By Ghazi غازي in English, poetry, جمعة بوكليب No Comments Tags: , , ,

By: Giuma Bukleb*
 
Leave
So that the warmth of the morning sun can wander
In our fig and olive trees and in this country that
Knew peace before you occupied it
To savor, without fear, the taste of bread and oil
And restore, with hope, what you crushed of our dreams
Leave
So that our fear can rest for a moment
And our grass sleeps, for one night, without nightmares
And our palm trees extend its fronds’ shade without dread
And our skies breathe peacefully
And our sea wakes up from its nap to watch us standing, without you,
On the threshold of the morning
Waiting for it
Leave
May the nights bereave you
And take with you:
All what your cases gathered of our mothers’ tears
And the hatred you sowed in us
The remains of your ancestors
The scoundrels of your sons
The pegs of your tents
The woods of your gallows
The towers of your prisons
The barking of your dogs
The silk in you dresses
The glare of your cloaks
The majesty of your crowns
The milk of your camels
The atoms of air contaminated with your breath
Your images
The carnage of your heroisms and delusions
The corpses of the mercenaries that you hired with our own money, from every country, to kill us
The termites gnawing the wood of your speeches
Even the ululations, if they exist, that heralded you birth
Take it all with you and leave,
And let us…
______
* To read the original poem in Arabic click here.