Rainbow
In the morning:
The chirpings of birds,
mixes with the sipping of coffee,
and the reading of letters
from those you love,
and the joy of looking at new pictures.
In the evening:
Rosy’s dreams increase
and thoughts turn into the symphonies,
tableaux and paintings,
that a person wishes
would materialize.
In the affairs of business:
the memory slips away from the
shackles of works,
wandering in the world of feeling,
sentiment and gentleness,
seeking everything that is afar.
In this unwinnable conflict,
imagination’s line continues,
like a rainbow displaying its colours
trying to mix the morning’s feelings
with the evening’s dreams …
and memory’s wanderings
sweetly yearn for
what is far to be near,
and for the dream to be reality.
Then, the rainbow’s colours
will form a brilliant picture
of an anticipated reunion …
**
Mothers without Motherhood
Unashamedly they said to me:
you are a fruitless tree,
and a moonless night.
We give birth to ensure
a sustainable world for sure.
And we sacrifice our lives
for our children to survive.
our children in return,
will sacrifice their precious lives
for their country to flourish.
***
I responded brusquely:
I am a leafy tree.
I provide shade and beauty;
And my own mission is to give,
Love, tolerance and happiness.
My life is all giving,
As I knew deprivation.
Population explosions you have caused
and accommodation crises
resulted in numerous wars
and human damnation
while, you only glorified your selfishness
and sanctified your own greed.
***
Don’t be alarmed!
when you see me reaching those who’ve
been born in wrong places, and those
born as a result of a desultory relation
in the darkness of an alley,
or the solitary burrows,
or between the graves in a disused
cemetery,
and left to fend for themselves,
in an unjust and cruel world
Then you can loudly say that;
I gave love to those deprived of it;
and relieved the suffering of the
destitute
I can be a mother to the
orphans of the world
whose their parents perished
as a result of an air raid,
or in a human massacre.
While I was providing care
for the orphans,
you were imprisoned in your
dark selfish world,
and looking after your own children,
made forget about the others.
For heaven’s sake,
stop blaming me for a crime I did not
commit,
or deprivation not of my own making.
not of my own making.
Do not be judgemental and accept the
fact that;
every one has a mission;
your mission is your children,
and my mission is to be
a mother to a motherless child.
N.B. This poem is translated by the
Known Australian Poet Anne Fairbairn
**
The Dervish
The young man asked a withered one:
What is your name, uncle?
The old man seated on the sidewalk
answered:
My name is the Dervish.
Where did you come from?
The young man asked.
The old man answered from behind
his long white beard,
with his eyes raised to the sky and his
fingers counting his rosary beads:
I am from the country that calls
every lazy man who chooses
to beg for his living: A Dervish
and calls the coward who is afraid to
defend his rights: Idealistic
And the failure who could not
forge his future: Contended
And the powerful man who enslaves
others: Leader
And the one who has mastered the art of
speech: Poet
And any wise man or reformer: prophet
The young man then smiled and said:
I think you are from the East.
**
I heard her singing
“I am not beautiful or a movie Star”
and I am not a commodity
for sale or lease.
From now on,
I shall not remain roaming in the
darkness of this world
as a straw pushed along
by the surging river.
No I shall not leave after today
my rights in the hand of the hangman,
being considered a half- brain,
left a half-inheritance,
and compensated with half- pay,
or a servant to the young and old.
I shall recapture all that was
stolen from me
and shall correct what
had been said about me.
I shall not accept
to be another Jeanne D’arc
so that they may burn me
to satisfy their desire.
**
Turn the page
The chirpings of birds,
mixes with the sipping of coffee,
and the reading of letters
from those you love,
and the joy of looking at new pictures.
In the evening:
Rosy’s dreams increase
and thoughts turn into the symphonies,
tableaux and paintings,
that a person wishes
would materialize.
In the affairs of business:
the memory slips away from the
shackles of works,
wandering in the world of feeling,
sentiment and gentleness,
seeking everything that is afar.
In this unwinnable conflict,
imagination’s line continues,
like a rainbow displaying its colours
trying to mix the morning’s feelings
with the evening’s dreams …
and memory’s wanderings
sweetly yearn for
what is far to be near,
and for the dream to be reality.
Then, the rainbow’s colours
will form a brilliant picture
of an anticipated reunion …
**
Mothers without Motherhood
Unashamedly they said to me:
you are a fruitless tree,
and a moonless night.
We give birth to ensure
a sustainable world for sure.
And we sacrifice our lives
for our children to survive.
our children in return,
will sacrifice their precious lives
for their country to flourish.
***
I responded brusquely:
I am a leafy tree.
I provide shade and beauty;
And my own mission is to give,
Love, tolerance and happiness.
My life is all giving,
As I knew deprivation.
Population explosions you have caused
and accommodation crises
resulted in numerous wars
and human damnation
while, you only glorified your selfishness
and sanctified your own greed.
***
Don’t be alarmed!
when you see me reaching those who’ve
been born in wrong places, and those
born as a result of a desultory relation
in the darkness of an alley,
or the solitary burrows,
or between the graves in a disused
cemetery,
and left to fend for themselves,
in an unjust and cruel world
Then you can loudly say that;
I gave love to those deprived of it;
and relieved the suffering of the
destitute
I can be a mother to the
orphans of the world
whose their parents perished
as a result of an air raid,
or in a human massacre.
While I was providing care
for the orphans,
you were imprisoned in your
dark selfish world,
and looking after your own children,
made forget about the others.
For heaven’s sake,
stop blaming me for a crime I did not
commit,
or deprivation not of my own making.
not of my own making.
Do not be judgemental and accept the
fact that;
every one has a mission;
your mission is your children,
and my mission is to be
a mother to a motherless child.
N.B. This poem is translated by the
Known Australian Poet Anne Fairbairn
**
The Dervish
The young man asked a withered one:
What is your name, uncle?
The old man seated on the sidewalk
answered:
My name is the Dervish.
Where did you come from?
The young man asked.
The old man answered from behind
his long white beard,
with his eyes raised to the sky and his
fingers counting his rosary beads:
I am from the country that calls
every lazy man who chooses
to beg for his living: A Dervish
and calls the coward who is afraid to
defend his rights: Idealistic
And the failure who could not
forge his future: Contended
And the powerful man who enslaves
others: Leader
And the one who has mastered the art of
speech: Poet
And any wise man or reformer: prophet
The young man then smiled and said:
I think you are from the East.
**
I heard her singing
“I am not beautiful or a movie Star”
and I am not a commodity
for sale or lease.
From now on,
I shall not remain roaming in the
darkness of this world
as a straw pushed along
by the surging river.
No I shall not leave after today
my rights in the hand of the hangman,
being considered a half- brain,
left a half-inheritance,
and compensated with half- pay,
or a servant to the young and old.
I shall recapture all that was
stolen from me
and shall correct what
had been said about me.
I shall not accept
to be another Jeanne D’arc
so that they may burn me
to satisfy their desire.
**
Turn the page
