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الأربعاء، 3 يوليو 2019

ألم تأتين يا توبة؟

 

And thereafter... Have you not come? I see you now, grateful for the long journey, carrying with you most of the poems mixed with salt. Your rosy hue has turned into the blue of sky and deep ink. You excel at blaming me, and I excel at regret. My overflowing heart is steeped in longing, O Tawba. Through its winding paths I come and go, lost, searching for rest. My distant yearning never ends, and all directions push me toward you. I was the one advancing toward your past enchantment with certainty— a lover crawling, and more than a bird seeking a branch, whose chest sings, washes its eyes, and falls asleep. I wish never to repent— and I will not. If I repent, my heart will die. I wish never to grow old, so that Nofal—that ancient boy— does not take his own life inside my chest. When will you say something, O Tawba? I see myself heading toward your eyes, those that doze upon the whisper of the wheat stalks, while I am the scarecrow of the field. I see you among the ears of wheat and scatter into crumbs. I gather my suspicions through you and take my revenge. You must say something. You must return from your long journey so that I may breathe. I must say something— anything that reaches you from my constricted chest. One word, one glance that you understand. I want to say... but I am sorry. I could not, O Tawba. — Bridges of Infinity Aql Al-Ayyash 3 July 2019 – 10:33 a.m.

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