Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Syria, Afghanistan and our hope- What can I do?

                       A Syrian Poem by Faraj Bayradkar

 this is my vision
and my exhaustion attests to it.
The river doesn't bend except
for this wager
But I, when a woman falls heavily
at the end of night, I forget my hands
on her voice, and then she departs,
leaving me my chains,
to write something, finally
but I, whenever the late birds struggle
(toward me the horizon shokes)
and an hour's mirage
I gargle it.
Oh, these two...
Give me back a little space
since my cell is a body I claim
and a freedom that claims me...
And give me back a question.
For the answers scattered by the tribes
or that scattered me over them,
no harm in that...
Look: the coming day, overflowing, will gather me
teardrop by teardrop, like an ode in its cradle,
and then illuminate me suddenly,
like a verse at its climax,
and bless me with its antithesis.