A state of mind that defies
definition or description
-
- 1.
- Regard, O
sorrowful traveller, the blue of the sea.
- The waves of
wounds beat together
- and the beaches
of pain lie deserted
- except for
silently weeping faces
- and you listen
to the whispering of the distant beloved.
- An appeal comes
to you from your fettered native land.
- Love flares up
and raises a cry
- from the child
crouching in your depth
- to revolt
against tyrannic laws
- and a drifting
towards the square of time
- bearing numerous
examples of unconsciousness.
-
- 2.
- Disappointed,
you return from your insane dance
- to become one
with the noise of the street,
- not caring how
thin the smiles are,
- not caring how
the lights fade away.
- You are
assaulted –O traveller with the green desires–
- by states of
mind that defy description or definition.
- Others call them
ruin, delirium, dismay,
- confusion,
failure, fiasco
- but you scan the
street attentively,
- watch the
lighted show-windows.
- Perhaps you'll
hit upon that song
- you long to hear
- when you are
assaulted by states of mind
- that defy
description or definition.
- Have you seen
the city's other face?
- Have you met its
terrifying rites?
- Armed to the
teeth with penetrating looks,
- you surround the
shining frames, you pierce them
- in order to
break through doors enclosed in darkness.
- But you shrink
back:
- the heart of the
city is a wall of steel.
-
- 3.
- On the cluttered
sidewalks
- books, magazines
and the daily newspaper are spread out.
- You search, you
leaf in vain
- for the face
missing from time.
- The
executioner’s wedding has been lost.
-
- 4.
- O sorrowful
traveller,
- the wound is a
book without margins.
-
- 5.
- In "The
Golden Finger"
- music mixes with
drunken sighs.
- The door of
desire slams shut,
- closes, opens,
closes.
- Outside, the
deep red river flows,
- unfrightened by
the spear, unguarded by the rifle.
- Between the
river and the wine-house a bridge
- built and still
standing.
-
- 6.
- This debauchery
- cost the
destruction of a country on the map of time,
- thousands
killed,
- millions of
tears and sighs
- and other small
tragedies
- not recorded in
the official statistics.
-
- 7.
- You ask for him,
that unknown prophet,
- at all the
bookstores.
- You search for
him.
- You spell his
name in the classical language,
- Ghassan
Kanafani,
- but you always
turn away disappointed
- for this is an
age
- when people
forget the names of prophets.
-
- 8.
- This native
land, this love made me an heir to worlds
- for which I have
no name.
- The first is a
departure in search of a face
- which keeps me
company.
- Today I read the
name, Kurdistan,
- in a table of
contents
- but I could not
find it in the book.
-
- 9.
- Astounding and
empty –such are the cities of the world.
- Nowhere in them
do you meet the musician who can play for you
- a harmonious
song or the dance you know so sell.
-
- 10.
- Alas, O immortal
lady, alas!
- This
never-ceasing whistle
- from the pipe of
history holds me captive
- inside a wall of
terrible hardship.
- May I ask a
humble question?
- How long?
©
Ferhad Shakely
Kurdish Times, vol. 1, No. 2, Fall 1986, pp 57-59 |