The Sudanese poem which was published By Queens Park Books

Each Monday I work in a project which is totally dedicated to refugees in Brighton city Southern of England ……. I go every Monday and try my best to help refugees who have difficulties in understanding English Language ….. I teach sometimes, translate sometimes ….. Comfort someone ( staff or student during their down times ) , help in cleaning or organising the teaching setting - that’s because it is a small group classes based on a cultural club food’s hall- … the amazing thing is that ’s all a volunteer job everyone who comes teach , cook, clean , bartend{ doing soft cold & hot drinks} get nothing else than a smile from a refugee or a thank you phrase ..

One day as I was co-ordinating teachers and students , I saw a middle aged woman came with a nice and friendly look , she was of average built , she was round faced with glasses and smart clothes , she had a shoulder length hair and she was always smiling. She asked about the person in charge … I explained to her our idea which ’’ there is no boss every one can do what’s in the benefit of the group’’ … then I offered her a cup of tea , she didn’t mind as the weather was horrible as usual… she then, explained to me she worked for a publishing house called Queens Park Books and they intended to make a book about the project specially the stories of the immigrants and refugee ….. I told her that we usually have a meeting every Monday before we start the lessons I can put it in the minutes for the next meeting ..she cheered up and wanted to have a look around the place … I went to inform Jenny who was one of the pioneers in the project about that lady… when the next Monday came the lady attended the meeting to explain the benefits of the book .She said that the money from selling the book will all come to the project funds - which was brilliant - and for confidentiality purposes the people who are going to tell their stories can not mention their names ….etc…..
She said she want also to write about the teachers or the volunteers who work for the project, she chose me and Jenny ……Then she started interviewing some of the students ‘’ mostly over the 30th years old’’…. When she wrote my story she asked me to translate her one of my poems to publish ….

I chose one of my poems which was published in 1996 and republished in Khartoum Newspaper in August 2006 ..it is about one of my friends from the southern of Sudan we were class mates in the intermediate school , then he left to Egypt to study there . When he finished university he was one of the distinguished student that he got scholarship to do the post- graduate studies .. So he went to Sudan to see his family and after that go back toEgypt to start his Masters …. He thought of visiting his home town in the South and that was the last thing I heard from him as I went with him to the airport … three weeks later I met one his relatives who told me about his death. It was one of the biggest shocks of my life . I knew that , after he returned from the south he was suffering from the ‘’sleeping sickness’’ which caused his death . I wrote that poem and it was published in the first anniversary of his death.


The Poem :-


Northern Requiem for a Southern Lad

By Osama Mohammed (Baz)

The light and dark of our faces didn’t matter ,
Our fatherland mattered.
Our country ,dying,
Gave up to two travellers
Its stories ,its glories.
There was no celebration
As the fragmented map
Scattered itself into our souls,
No schism .
How many times on that higher plain
Qur’an and Gospel
mixed like water in two streams?
How many times the songs we loved
Pointed to a bright horizon?
How many times we fought ,
Then found, in peace, sweetness ?
How many times our shallow imaginings
Our thin boastings, were overcome
By the flood of truth and deeper desires.
On and on and on the gifts of friendship were to last .
Gifts from the ebony lad with the heart of ivory .
But fate dictates.
It snatched you from the path,
Kidnapped you ,
Took you , sleeping , to a longer sleep.
Leaving us …leaving us unfriended,
Alone on our journey,
Both victim and criminal.
We pore over your photograph
And remember the music of your voice.
Blinded, we search for strength .
And all the places ask for you,
Alexandria’s Academe* shouts,
The very sea howls
‘’ Did Logo* Die’’

Can I heap with ashes
A coastline, a city ?
Myself I would heap with memories .
Ah , Logo . You are a jewel among stones ..
You are a sweet breeze in the heat.
You entranced us , conquered us all.
Are you now conquered in death ?
You leave us to mourn.
Your fatherland , your land
Will not forget your touch .
Your light will burn on……







Notes:-
* Alexandria’s Academe :- Where my friend studied.
* Logo :- My late friend's name.

You can find the book on this site :-

http://www.queensparkbooks.org.uk/books/catal...=99&p=&search=refuge

(Edited by Osama Mohammed on 04-11-2008, 07:23 AM)

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