In a short story I wrote long before the Libyan uprising, I imagined a man riding beside a reckless and erratic driver along with several other silent passengers in a very old car. Driving for an eternity on a long never ending hot baking road, the man kept asking the driver only one question, “Where are we going?!” That scene and that question depicted the general sense of despair and helplessness towards the situation in Gaddafi’s Libya. Two years ago Libya was on the verge of a tumultuous transformation. The capital Tripoli, was being taken by rebel forces […]
(Watercolour on paper A4 – August 2013)
They wish to see you dead before you are free..
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..
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 […]
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.
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 […]
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, […]