English

Beard..

Long time ago..

A wise man shaved his beard..

His face glowed with that bright shining star light in a sacred night..

The god of absurd death and dull life walked into the glow

And anger filled his bearded heart..

Life was draining from the horizon 

And the sun forgot the morning to come..

A beard grew in protest on the edges of his delusional face.

Long time a go..

Not far away from where you sit..

A man walks in the wind

Pleasing a lonely god with

An apocalyptic beard..

2012 a year in pictures| 2012 عام في صور

Labyrinth

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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?!

Riddle (Poem)*

By: Moftah al-Ammari**

 

Show me my name

I am drunk with my labour

Show me my home

Addresses of my family

My face

And my shadow if you can

Show me

O Father, and take a country

________________________

* From the collection (Mashyet Al’aser) - Libya – 2004

** Moftah al-Ammari: born 1956, a renowned Libyan poet. Began writing short stories in the late 1970’s and by the mid 1980’s he emerged as one of the leading new poets in Libya. He has twelve published books.

Will they be walking the same road next year?

I still walk towards the south,

When the wind blows some dreams on the empty streets,

Pavements offering a bed from nightmares and promises of a sunny day.

 

I still stand on the shore drawing footsteps on the sand,

Leaving a trail of laughter?!

Or maybe they were tears!

 

I can still see through the darkness of night images of those that walked with us on the corniche,

Throwing pebbles and cursing a never coming rain,

Counting the blinking lights of the harbour before blowing farewells to the forsaken city.

 

They still walk towards us,

Fists challenging gods,

Blood simmering the veins, throats full of angry hymns of victory.

 

Was it only a night,

Or a fretful day sleep?!

Will they be walking the same road next year?

Leave (By: Giuma Bukleb)

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.