فتحي مهذب - دعاء الهدهد تحت وابل الطائرات الضحوكة Hoopoe prayer under the barrage of laughing planes.. ترجمة للإنكليزية د. يوسف حنا / فل

Hoopoe prayer under the barrage of laughing planes
Fathi Muhadub / Tunisia
From Arabic Dr. Yousef Hanna / Palestine


My God...
Who strikes the funeral of the world
With pearls of night and day.
Whose forehead is ornamented with a mystic cloud.
Who fills his void with fragile embroideries.
Who leans on a shy moon
And his hands flowing with fireflies,
Holding the button of dawn
To light the oblivion...
Who created me to perish the flowers of my imagination.
Who closed the cave of myself
With a spider latch.
Who singled me out as an abandoned building
Filled with rodents and armored vehicles.
Who instilled his senses
In the network of the world...

My God baptized me in chrysolite of March
Showered me with a barrage of beautiful women
Emptied their sweetness on my slopes.
Do not let anyone else but me,
To wipe the precious stones of your voice.
Do not displace my victims under dust
Of your quiet balcony.
Free me from this erogenous cave,
From the greed of this squirrel
That lies under the bush of the senses,
In depth of my insane vent.
So, I can see laughable planets spinning slowly
Around the willow of my soul.
My God, loan me your thinning shirt
To ride on an express train
Towards the Milky Way.
Do not neglect me as an unworthy creature
For praise of sunflowers.
I go down a little
I touch the earlap of my voice
With your silver chin beads.
Make me the sole heir
For rainbow rivers.
Make me the sole heir
Of your great throne.
Do not deprive me of the pleasure of flying
In the sky of the soul.
Infuse me with hunch bulbs,
Lest the wolves chase me under the sheet.
Lest the sad rock throw me with fragility
Lest my loose organs become
Folks of stones.

God, disperse this air
That feels around the essence of the world
With the tips of his tongue,
Hitting my window with his wooden tail,
Wielding at me his personal pistol
(Rubbed by the blind to discover light estuaries)
That is suckled jinn milk
By a possessed maid,
And blessed by albatross birds
In sleeping harbours,
And to its Christ's-thorn tree, make pilgrimage spectrums of the deceased.

My God, the nature of things failed me
Do not make me prey for the intrigues of sea
Save me from the chains of my dark soul
Smash the King of Death’s boat
Make my grave an eternal festival
In which opposites fight fiercely
Make it a desert illuminated by gorilla’s joy,
To continue looting future statues.

God, endue me proofs from you part
To fortify my fortress with narration conditions
Give me help for killing flies of shortfall
Make my soul a safe beach for the body steamship.

God, the earthquake of my contradictions destroyed me
Whilst you did not bestow on your creatures
Except sour grapes.
Nothing could gran my bones
Except the ogress of treason.

My God, wear me your beautiful face
To see the nakedness of kings,
In heights of sleep.
(They wash their thoughts in chameleon blood)
My God, built a palace for me in Hell
And gift me the cymbals of devil
To excise the clown meteors by wailing
And to lure the harem and the offenders
To the mount my words.

My God, do not cry your child
Who was let down by the tame chorus of opposites
Who Hades hunted with his bow and arrows
In the cedar forests
And the swans ignited their cristae
Under his night ankle
While you are up high,
Under your packed chin with pimples,
Rivers drip.
And you think about shy cocoons
Of AIDS victims,
And about a neglected bed for the shepherds of oblivion.

My God, don't let me a fancy dinner
For hawks of margins
Embellish my face with loving meteors
Free my gloomy dark head
From the delirium of the stone
Free the broken inhabitants of the body
From the spurs of beavers
Free me from the widow's hooves
When she passes her breast silk
On my tombstone
Relieve me from the planet my spinning head
From the haze of a unicorn
Towards nothingness of things.

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