فتحي مهذب - ذهبوا جميعا وبقيت وحدي كالحجر... ترجمة: د. يوسف حنا

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They all went and I remained alone like a stone.

By Fathi Muhadub / Tunisia

Translation from Arabic Dr. Yousef Hanna / Palestine

Shadow eats the horse.

And the tree calls the widow.

There was dove melted of passion like a candle.

And the barbarians darn the plains

With a needle of pragmatism

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When it rains obsessions,

The red fox disappears

In your spine.

And we, with a pierced and thundering laugh,

Try to distract the imperatives with a long-nailed narrative.

And if the leopard of meaninglessness bit you,

Go up to the hill of music

Air will be your intercessor

You’ll release women free of habit cages

And cut of the logic neo-speakers’ ear.

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Toss your hook

There is a fish full of magic and nostalgia.

The place is narrower than a rear of mare.

And the water proofs are very bright.

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Beware

The blue cheetah will eat your fragile memories.

May the music rose save you

With it’s sad tone.

Your mom is a dark cloud

And your brothers are heartbroken chicks.

Hurry, go to the rainbow crossroads.

Your miserable boat stuck in a hole of meaninglessness

And crowds are in estrangement with the rhythm of joy.

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Take it easy.. O you insightful

Don't explain your aquamarine wisdom to a crow.

Do not explain the rhetoric of your fire to the blind.

Take care of your unique balcony in solitude.

Strew (yesterday's driver)

On the brink of suspicion.

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We ate the distance with our feet

We have not arrived.

No one arrived in time.

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They killed the rose when it reached a written version

Of truth.

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The critic who killed a hind

Did not succeed in taming the questions.

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We heard the moan of the boats

In the captains’ tone

And bumping rocks of doubt

In nihilistic gait.

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A delicious funeral

With flavor of pineapple.

I praise the coffins that lick the dead’s memories.

Each deep hole is an incomparable gift.

Thank you, grave digger

For your eminent tusks

And your black fun.

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They all went

And I remained alone like a stone.

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They hold the castle

On their shoulders.

They carry lamps and sacks of rice.

The keys are in the priest's jacket.

And the priest is sixty meters

Of absurd clouds.

My mouth is full of fog,

Throating my fingers.

Beware

Blue whales swallow soldiers,

Good people.

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The stock dove is gone

What am I going to do with her nest?

With its favorite indexes?

What do I say to my garden?

For the void that bombards the house.

And moans like a cricket inside the balcony.

The stock dove is gone

My madness is coming leisurely

To awaken my household cloud.

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