A poem by: Abdosalam Al Ajeali
Translated from Arabic by: Ghazi Gheblawi
He is a shadow
Taken by the call
And left him hanged
At the end of the alley
And she is a storm
The dusk is her howdah
Her chanting is a line of sand
And an old cough
So, come close oh, storm
This embossed is a home for my fingers
And that small scarlet,
A river for my ships
I, the miserable Meshweshian
Son of the ashy gods
Know how to ripen your stubborn fruits!
And how to draw the jungles and drums
On your wintry blankets
I invite you to dance
In the seasons of thirst
And I wear you in the nights of hunger
A face and a loaf
My chest is a coffin
For your far colours
Between me and you a grave salt
Oh…
How can I finish in you my song?
And the city lost its night gown,
Granted her somnolence to the winds
And the steps bargaining the distances
With the illusion that got over the voyage
I, the returned Meshweshian
From the last gazelles
Spread my soft heart for the weeps of the world
And descended to the dust
Bargaining dry milk
And smiling to the ugliest women
Aiming my baffled poems
To your far eyes
Putting on a hole
In the morning
Smuggling in the pocket of noon my kiss
Offering my bones
A wood for evenings of the voyage
So, come close oh storm come close
This alley is not enough to contain our heads
My shoe no more listens to me
My mail
A heavy divulgence
The winds don’t carry it,
It falls before the battles
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* Meshwesh: an ancient Libyan tribe, it is been suggested by the anthropologists that most native Libyans are descended from this tribe.
* Abdosalam Al Ajeali عبد السلام العجيلي: Born 1960 in Darnah east Libya, started writing poetry since the 80’s, has two published collections of poetry, this poem is from (The Trees of Talk) (Shajer Al Kalam) 2002.
