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Strange and lonely child sitting in a dark garden, this is my heart.

Strange and lonely child sitting in a dark garden,
this is my heart

   When I opened the book of the horizon
   The light fell.
   The heart was resounding a song
   With bitter words.
   I beheld, between me and the light
   Walking corpses trying to
   Kidnap my lightning and quench
   My song.
   Listening to the flute,
   The soul slumbered.
   The wounds were resounding:
   Peace! Peace!
   The windows were silent
   And the wind severely lashed
   The heart.
   A yellow storm blew up
   And black water sprang
   From my heart. The heart
   Is my inkwell: I'll write
   My sorrow on a soft blue cloud
   To ease the pain.
   My tree shakes its branches,
   Awaken the birds to sing
   The songs that the windows
   Were waiting for,
   In the arms
   Of darkness.
   I'll pluck the mysterious
   That sways in the soul:
   The soul, a child
   Strange and lonely,
   Sitting in a dark garden.

   Oh, deep soul
   When will they fathom your depths?
   Pure one,
   When will they discover your whiteness,
   Your spring full of
   Endless green?
   Quiet one,
   When will the world be aware
   Of your eloquent silence,
   Flowering with pain,
   Shivering fingers,
   And the heart which never tires
   Of its ink.
   Houses of fog,
   The morning,
   The roses of the far fields,
   The freezing waters,
   And those who sleep on the sidewalk,
   All waiting eagerly
   For the sun.

translated by Soheil Najm

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Article Details
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Title Annotation:The poetry of IRAQ
Author:Zair, Rasmiah Meheibis
Publication:Atlanta Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2007
Previous Article:The Black Box.
Next Article:The Transient Things.

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