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الخميس، 25 أبريل 2024
الأحد، 21 أبريل 2024
رسائل ادبية Literary letters
I put on my coat, my friend, and went to the outskirts of the city. I avoided the crowds, the horns of cars, and the shouting of the vendors occupying the sidewalks. To renew my papers, I needed a thousand, thousand witnesses and two pictures, bareheaded, and to have my blood tested. I walked at a slow pace. My fatigue pushed me to walk with another fatigue. I parked my unlicensed car in the furthest place from... The traffic officer turns to her. I have a driver’s license that is not recognized and I am not entitled to obtain a driver’s license for any vehicle because I am an immigrant and a refugee. I went where I was going and finished what I had gone to with sympathy from the gentlemen and ladies responsible for my affairs. I returned to where I parked my car. I sat behind the car. I took the wheel, and as usual, I lit my cigarette, always with my black coffee. I sat thinking about where I was going. I was bored of my quiet corner. The weather fluctuated between warm and cold, not encouraging me to go to the wilderness or to my usual place. My childhood friends. I don’t know where they are. Each one of them has become under a star passing by me Many people are all busy with things that no longer occupy me and here you are twisting the braids of your little ones and braiding with your fingertips pearly poems. Here I am returning to my corner to become more and more lonely. I feel the wrinkles of my face and the gray hair is spreading and occupying with its roughness my soft blackness. It seems that as we grow older we become more delicate, but we think of leaving. There are no hands to wave to us or Our hands reach into our pains, but let go of that. Tell me about yourself, about the things that kept you busy, about the friends who wrote to us and we wrote about them, what their conditions are or what the years have done to them. I know that you are busy, and this pleases me.
الاثنين، 15 أبريل 2024
مصادفة يتيم Encountering an orphan
ما شفت لي عمر ٍ تعدى برتابه .... اقفى وهو ينتظر عودة بلاد
والشمس تاهت في وسط غابه ... يسوقها نخاس ويتلاه جلاد
وغريب مر العيد ما اندق بابه .... لا له وطن ولا حبيبه ولا اعياد
ياعمر طاريك على البال جابه .... طفل يتيم ٍ عن الام نشاد
بيده قلم مكسور, مقطع كتابه .... رثه ثيابه خصره مبطي عن الزاد
نعله براه القيظ يشبه ترابه ....متقرظ ابهامه صابر ومعتاد
حلمه بسيط يشتري اليوم طابه .... واما لباس مثل ملبوس الاولاد
في عيونه الحسره جمره مذابه .... جرحه خفي نازف ٍ ماله ضماد
طفل طلبهم ,قالوا ياورع مابه .....ويبكي من شاف القطيعه والاجحاد
اعطوه نظرات الوحوش الذيابه....حتى اقرانه مابهم شخص وداد
يظن ان سحنة وجهه اسبابه.......عاد المرايا ودمعته تفرط اكباد
يا كنهم عدوان ما هم قرابه .... ياكن في قلوبهم اولغا و جلعاد
النوم له ملجأ احلامه العابه ....توسد احلامه بامه بلا وساد
تلعب معه تضحك تمسح اتعابه .....تفرش يديها وضمة الام تهواد
ياعمر مر العمر مثل السحابه.... تزفزفه ريح الليالي للاضداد
ياعمر كم بالكون حياة تشابه .... او كنها ايام ٍ على الخلق تنعاد
في رحلة العمر تشوف الكآبه ... . الظلم وافر والشقى يخلق اصفاد
يمكن يعوي الذيب من اوجاع نابه .... يمكن يصير الليل رفيق الاجواد
I have never seen my life go beyond its uncertainty.... I stand waiting for my country to return
And the sun was lost in the middle of a forest... driven by a slaver and followed by an executioner
A stranger who passed the holiday did not knock on his door... He had no homeland, no lover, and no holidays
O Omar, you have come to mind.... An orphaned child from the mother, Nashad
In his hand is a broken pen, the fragment of his writing.... His clothes are shabby, his waist is too short of provisions
His sandals are like dirt in the heat...he has a sore thumb, he is patient and accustomed
His dream is simple: he buys a piece of clothing today... or clothes like children’s clothes
In his eyes, grief is a melted ember... His wound is hidden and bleeding, with no bandage.
A child asked for them, they said, Oh, what's wrong with him.....and he who sees estrangement and disobedience cries
They gave him the looks of wolfish beasts...even his peers didn't think he was a friendly person
He thinks that his facial appearance is the cause of it. He returned the mirrors and his tears overflowed his heart
Oh, they are enemies, they are not related.... Oh, they are Olga and Gilead in their hearts
Sleep is a refuge for him, his dreams are his toys... his dreams of his mother are cushioned without a pillow
She plays with him, laughs, wipes away his tiredness, spreads her hands, and hugs her mother soothingly
O Omar, life has passed like a cloud... the wind of the nights blows it away towards opposites
O Omar, how similar life is in the universe.... Or are it days that will be repeated over creation?
In the journey of life you see depression... Injustice is abundant, and misery creates shackles
The wolf may howl from the pain of its fang.... The night may become the companion of the horses
الأحد، 14 أبريل 2024
Edges of night and light حواف الليل و الضوء
الثلاثاء، 9 أبريل 2024
الاثنين، 8 أبريل 2024
ذكريات 8 أبريل 2017 · Memories April 8, 2017
الأحد، 7 أبريل 2024
ما اصعبك you are hard
كلما دونتك حطمت قلم وجئت بك من طفولتي ورحلت في قطارك
الا تراني الان يافع اغض الطرف ليحضنني وقارك
ما اصعب ان تفيق في غربة بعد حلم ما اصعب نهارك
ما اصعب ان تزفر وهم وتتعثر بوهم فيستجير بك انكسارك
ما اصعب ان تجدك في كل رتم حزين ولا مناص من مسارك
ما اصعبك
How difficult it is for you
Every time I wrote you down, I broke my pen and brought you from my childhood and left on your train
Don't you see me now as a young man? Turn a blind eye to embrace me with your dignity
How difficult it is to wake up in a foreign country after a dream. How difficult is your day
How difficult it is to exhale an illusion and stumble upon an illusion, and your brokenness takes refuge in you
How difficult it is to find you in every sad and inevitable path
How difficult it is for you
السبت، 6 أبريل 2024
يا ايم Oh aym
اتدفق بكل جرح
اجيء بكل عنفوان
ثم لا ادري أ تدويني كان رسائل ام بكاء
اكتب ولا اصحح اخطاءي
ستعلمني شفتيك كيف اتأنى واقرأ
سيعلمني قلمك كيف اغمس قلمي بمحبرة التمهل
لكني لا اعدك بهذا
لان اللذين اجدهم يشبهون دربي
ثم لا ادري متى رحلت معهم
اشعر بغربتهم , اشعر بأرق عينيهم
حتى انهم لا يدرون اني افكر بهم
او حتى كتبت لهم
اجرح عيني بغير قصد
اجرح بياض ورقي فينزف لتبقى صورهم الجميله
اجدهم فاستعيد الماضي بفرحهم
من اجل ان نبقى معتزلين مشغولين بهم
نذكرهم انكم غير منسيين
I'm always in a hurry, Oh aym
I flow with every wound
I come with full force
Then I don't know whether my blogging was messages or crying
I write and do not correct my mistakes
Your lips will teach me how to slow down and read
Your pen will teach me how to dip my pen in the inkwell slowly
But I don't promise that
Because the ones I find are similar to my path
Then I don't know when I left with them
I feel their alienation, I feel the tenderness in their eyes
They don't even know that I'm thinking about them
Or even wrote to them
I accidentally hurt my eyes
Cut a piece of paper and it bleeds so that their beautiful pictures remain
I find them and bring back the past with their joy
In order to remain isolated and busy with them
We remind them that you are not forgotten
الخميس، 4 أبريل 2024
moons اقمار
ان اراقبك من بعيد وانت تجوب سماءي كالقمر
هذا بحد ذاته وجع يجرح روحي
قريب من عيني بعيد عن يدي
كل ما حولي يشعر بي
الريح والظل والواقفين على الاغصان
النهر يجري صوب الجنوب والغيم في السماء معه
الاماني وخز ابر والاشواك في خوف دائم
يداي قصيرتان لا تصافحان سكان السماء
اشعر بخيوط روحي تسحبني نحو الافق
اما انت يبدو انك كنت معنا فوق هذه الصخرة
مد يدك نحونا او انزل حبال من نورك الذهبي
تعال وانتشلنا لنصير اقمارا وندور حولك
I <To watch you from afar as you roam my sky like the moon
This in itself is a pain that hurts my soul
Close to my eyes, far from my reach
Everything around me feels me
The wind, the shadow, and those standing on the branches
The river flows towards the south and clouds in the sky with it
Wishes are pricks of needles and thorns in constant fear
My hands are short and cannot shake hands with the inhabitants of the sky
I feel the threads of my soul pulling me towards the horizon
As for you, it seems that you were with us on this rock
Extend your hand towards us or send down ropes of your golden light
Come and lift us up so that we may become moons and revolve around you
نائية remote
مثل جبل عظيم انهار وبقي عاليا كالكثيب كلما هبت ريح التلف وانطوى على نفسه وكل جزء يطير منه يتنهد , صار صحراء والغائبين مسافات نائية
الزائر الاخير The last visitor
كل وطن صخر يا تماضر وكل محب قيس ياليلى
لم نعد عصييين على الدمع يا نهار
ولم يعد بالنخيل رطب يا جلنار
صار الظل ريبة وصار الرتم شبهة
نتناسا ونتذكر ما يجب ان ننساه
على سبيل الغربة وجدتك صدفه وعلى سبيل البوح كتبت لك
هل يزعجك ان اقول ان لدينا ذاكره من ورق
قلت من قبل ان اسواء الاشياء ذاكرة الورق
وبما انْا لدينا ذاكرة عسجديه للحنين
تعالي لنجمع بيدرا ونرتخ قمحا ونبني ذاكرة من قش
تقف كفزاعة الحقل
تخافها الكلمات والصور والاغاني التي تنوي بكائنا
تضج اجنحة الايام جزعا اذ جاءت تدعونا اليها
تعالي لننسى
حدثيني عن هجرتك صوب النهر الجرماني
او تعالي احدثك عن باديتي ونجعتي صوب الرواء
صهيل السراب كاغنية اعجمية حزينه
لحنها يشدك اليك وكلماتها مرايا اللال
لننسى كل مآل والرحيل المعطل للزوال
هل تعلمين انني لا اقدر على نداءك
ان قلت صديقتي هذا غير مرضي
وان قلت حبيبتي هذا جنون و تعدي
نحن اشباه
كعينين لم تلتقيان ابدا
نحن اسمين لجسدين وهميين وافرين ودا
نحن مآقي قالت ما لا يكتب
نحن نواقيس لم تقرع ومنابر قتل واعظها
لا ادري يا ايام ما يدعوني لان اراكي ذات روان
تنظرين لشيء خفي
شيء تكونين انت ِ مأواه وهو ملاذ ابتسامتك
اكتب هذا وانا في عناق اللامعقول
ان حنيني داميا يبدد اشلاء عمري
وقبل انفعالك سأكون مستنكرا وقاحتي
انا متورط بي
كعاصفة حين وحين آخر تصير تهويدتي الاقاحي
هل اسألك عن وجهة ذات نجاة
عن ضوء يفرش عباءته مثل نبي
يا ايم لديا اصدقاء لا يكتبون الشعر ولا ينثرون خواطرهم
لديا اصدقاء شعراء يقرضون الشعر ويبكون خفية
انا الاكثر جرأة حين كتبت لك وحين اعتزلت المدينة
سا محيني ولا تظنين اني ابني سلم من حروف
سماءك بعيده ووقاري يراوغ ايسري
ثم لابد يا ايم ان اودعك
لابد اني انتظرك تضعين وردة وحفنت ياسمين
وعند اسمي المحفور على رخام ابيض ستلقين قصيده
ولاول مره اسمع صوتك واستمع لبحة مشرقه
ستمنحيني الفرح لتكونين الزائر الاخير
Every country is your brother, Tamadur, and every lover of Qais, Laila
We are no longer stubborn to tears, daylight
The palm trees are no longer fresh, oh pomegranate blossom
The shadow became suspicion and the words became suspicion
We forget and remember what we should forget
As a stranger, I found you by chance, and as a way to reveal it, I wrote to you
Does it bother you when I say that we have a memory made of paper?
I said before that the worst things are paper memory
Since we have a golden memory of nostalgia
Come, let's build a threshing floor and build a memory made of straw
Like a scarecrow in the field, the words, images, and songs that intend to make us cry are frightened
The wings of days are filled with alarm as they come calling us to them
Come let us forget
Tell me about your migration towards the Germanic River
Or come, I will tell you about my desert and my relief towards irrigation
The mirage neighs like a sad foreign song
Its melody draws you in and its words are mirrors of the night
Let us forget all the fates and the delaying departure of the demise
Do you know that I cannot call you?
If I tell you that you are my friend, this is not satisfactory
And if you say, my love, this is madness and transgression
We are like two eyes that have never met
We are two names for two imaginary bodies that are abundant and friendly
We are eyeballs that said what is not written
We are bells that have not rung and pulpits whose preacher has been killed
I don't know, oh, days, what makes me see you in a state of amazement
You're looking at something hidden
Something that you can be your refuge and that is the refuge of your smile
I write this while embracing the absurd
My longing is bloody, dissipating the pieces of my life
Before you get emotional, I will denounce my rudeness
I'm involved with me
Like a storm every now and then it becomes my lullaby
May I ask you about a destination with survival?
About a light spreading his cloak like a prophet
Oh, I have friends who do not write poetry or share their thoughts
I have poet friends who recite poetry and cry secretly
I was the boldest when I wrote to you and when I retired from the city
Forgive me and do not think that I am constructing a ladder of letters
Your sky is far away, my heart eludes me
Then, Em, I must bid you farewell
I must be waiting for you to put a rose and a bunch of jasmine
And when my name is engraved on white marble, you will recite a poem
For the first time, I hear your voice and hear its bright hoarseness
You will give me joy to be the last visitor







