I am the saltiness of its Earth!
The frustration,
The falcated end of the frustrating wait,
Infinitive wait,
Perch of engorged time,
Emanates,
Emanates,
Strangles the sky,
Strangle it with both hands,
affecting my faith,
And throws me from eminent highest,
Thistly ones,
The volition compiles,
It collects it`s locks away from me,
Stone in my staring eye!
The heed, lets me go!
Why it lets me go!
My intuition escaped me!
When it slapped the door on my face,
All that oblivious to me,
Erected like a dike at the beginning of the road,
How I did not see you, oh my distant sky,
My glaring sky,
Now I swallow the frustration,
Like the time swallows a knot,
I squeeze the dough of time with my both hands,
***
I am the stranger, Artimus,
Bare me,
Don`t cover me,
Let me open my arms to the winds,
Let me wash the clots from my blood,
Let me flounce,
Quiver,
To compile within my skin,
For a time,
Thousand times,
I nuke,
Layers upon layers,
Of carefulness and excuses,
The Stickiness of waiting,
The wind spits on my face,
It spits me,
I was the spittle of the wind,
But it spitted me!
*****
Statues,
Statues,
Statues of ashes ho, Artimus,
They chooses direction for their prostration,
Only to fall in the way,
A pile of prostrated statues,
A pile of falling submissive statues,
***
Take it,
Take what you ignited at the end of my fingers,
Take it`s wick.
***
My mistakes,
My little things,
The boring coffee,
All,
Repaired my humanity,
Made me,
chiseled me.
Shaped me,
Oh, Artimus.
***
The words scattered,
Like stars on my bed at night,
The vapid words,
A glass of milk,
The world econ,
Like a dot at the end of a line,
The frame of my high window,
The wooden frame,
***
I am not the daughter of this time,
Nor belongs to it,
As it flows from its distant maces,
To expel me,
It only grows around me,
I am the saltiness of its earth,
Oh, Artimus,
***
I am it`s hopelessness, of the time
When it fails to accomplish its circle
I am its grudge amongst its people,
***
In my blood,
The little trees of time wither away, and die within me,
Trying to ornament its pimples, Artimus,
Its whelk of frustration,
Its whelk, Artimus.
***
The time,
All this time doesn’t belong to me!
Unknown date.
Unknown times.
This is far reaching, implicating, and most exhausting yet absorbing, of poetry (reading), and made my job so daunting and tiring.
Thanks for the painful joy!
Ibrahim
إنها ترجمة من العربية للإنجليزيه... النص الأصل كان ممتعاً ملعوناً مشحوناً قاسياً وأقل ما يمكن أن يقال عنه...... (كمحاولة إجراء حواراً بين الموت ورصيفه)!
سأحاول البحث عن الأصل!
(لا تسأليني إن لم أجده..فقد تكون إجابتي ربما..... ربما إختبأ بين (مفرقي البحر)!
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ibrahim kojan
فيس بوك
تويتر
انستقرام
يوتيوب
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