A Request

Over here
The time stops
In the wide corner from the cosmos,
The time stops
In domains that infinite
From doorsteps of shooting stars,
The time stops
Everywhere,
The time stops.
Then
The demonstrations follow in succession
From all sides
From all people
those who were born and died,
Those who were born
and are still alive,
And those who will be born,
Carrying candles
That spurt vermillion blood,
And the signs they tore
From the blue clearness of the Iraqi sky
Written on
"God"
Hasn't Iraq's ground had enough blood poured on?

Detroit

4/5/2004

Indian Dance
 

The pitcher of sadness
Tied to the fingers of the moon
Melts the eyes of the light
In between the stars.

In the dark's shadow
When he closes his eyes
Between the echo and the echo
The silence cries.

The heaps of autumn
The smoke of dreams
My country's tattoo.

Bits of the villages ...
On an extended desert...
On the forgotten valleys…
The sadness flows,
Tents on the descending, sandy valleys
And the circuitous channels of the path
Like an Indian dance...

An astrologer's hemorrhage for the coal
Hanged by the sail of grief,
And the valley of the opened mouth
Watches in silence at the passing clouds!

 

 Written and Translated by: Said Alwaely

A Mug of Water

A Mug of Water

Nude and slender
The dawn opens its eyes,
In-between its eyelids
A polar twilight,
A tremble...
Dangled
The sky's arms.
Fading,
Like the morning star,
A rhythm ...
On the flow of pains,
Vapor of the head
Loosens its ambush ...
The things are servile
Like the far away horizon…
Earth,
Like a blue drop of circumference
In the dark corner
Its light: the stars.
Centers
Come and go
Heavy blindness
Pervades the circumference,
And the dawn
Possessor of white hair
Emits his intestine's crowds
And gnaws the aim.
Dome Blue eyes
Dangles
From depth of the maze…
Eyelashes covered by branches,
Created Like the haze of canyons
And hide the secret.
An eternal desert
Golden cinctures
Dances in-between ear and ear
Its gray tail
The depth of circumference.
The summit of the patch slides
Like a surreal pole
And in a gelatinous cave
An earthy progeny lime
Like the tropic snakes Inhaling the fire.
And then for the vapor be
From coronation of a lie like a coronet!
But the truth
Like the air which we inhale,
Mug of a water Achromatic,
Taste,
And smell.
I hear the gulf under the rocks,
To sheathe my soul
In the veins of my bones,
I watch it slide
As a fish In the neck of a bird.

Written and Translated by: Said Alwaely