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والله تعبنا I swear we are tired

رسائل ادبية Literary letters

ارتديت معطفي يا صديقتي وذهبت الى اطراف المدينة , تجنبت الزحام وابواق السيارات وصياح الباعة المحتلين الارصفة , لتجديد اوراقي مطلوب الف الف شاهد وصورتين حاسر الرأس وتحليل دمي , اسير بخطواة متمهلة , اجر تعبي ويدفعني للسير تعب آخر , ركنت سيارتي الغير مرخصه في ابعد مكان عن لا يلتفت اليها ضابط المرور , لديا رخصة قياده غير معترف بها ولا يحق لي الحصول على رخصة سوق لاي مركبه لانني مهجر و لاجيء , مضيت الى حيث كنت ذاهب وانهيت ماذهبت اليه بتعاطف من السادة و السيدات  المسؤلين عن شؤوني , عدت الى حيث ركنت سيارتي , جلست  خلف المقود وكالعاده اشعلت سيجارتي ودائما برفقتي قهوتي الساده ,جلست افكر الى اين سأذهب لقد ضجرت من ركني الهادي , الجو متقلب مابين دافىء وبارد لا يشجعني للدهاب للبراري ولا الى مكاني المعهود , اصدقاء  طفولتي لا ادري اين هم لقد اصبح كل واحد منهم تحت نجم , يمر بجانبي اناس كثيرون كلهم مشغولون باشياء لم تعد تشغلني , وها انت ِ تفلين ظفائر صغيراتك وتجدلين باناملك قصائد لؤلؤية , ها انا اعود الى ركني لازداد وحدة اتلمس تجاعيد وجهي والشيب يطفر ويحتل بخشونته سوادي الناعم يبدو اننا كلما كبرنا نزداد رقه لكننا نفكر بالرحيل لا ايدي تلوح لنا ولا ايدينا تصل الى اوجاعنا , لكن دعك ِ من هذا , اخبريني عنك عن الاشياء التي كانت تشغلك عن الاصدقاء اللذين كتبوا لنا وكتبنا عنهم ماهي احوالهم او مالذي فعلته بهم السنون , اعلم انك مشغوله وهذا يسرني 

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.

انا مكاني مكاني My place is my place

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