An Attempt To Celebrate Poem by Adeeb Kamal Ad-Deen

Celebrating myself,
I have put my blood in my glass
From which I made the orchestra
Of my letters and dots.
May I try dance?
Yes, I will get my letters ready
For a ballet of my red and white cells.
May I try death?
Yes, I will get my letter to be a green coffin
Borne by the bearded old men
To put in the marble palace.
I will be with them,
Around them, awaiting them.
May I try the tale?
Yes, but a tale without a beginning
Is only a myth.
And a myth without an end
Is only a superstition.
A superstition without a hope
Is only icons drop broken upon the heads.
May I try pennilessness?
May I sell my boyhood?
Yes, I have done.
And who bought it?
The slain Euphrates.
May I sell my love?
I have done.
And who bought it?
The women whose (Lo) is missing (ve),
Or whose (ve) is missing (Lo)
May I sell pleasure?
I have done.
And who bought it?
The toothless time.
May I sell night?
I have done.
And who bought it?
The frightened morning.
Celebrating my blood,
Being happy with it,
I have crowned it as a king of words,
A sultan of letters,
And an emperor of dots.
I granted him great feathered - dreams,
Peacocks, and mythical orders nobody got before.
And when everything got perfectly ready
Except the music of greatest happiness,
I shot my blood.
When my blood twisted in its blood
And started to draw the thread of blood
Very painfully,
The horrible scene astonished me
So I laughed, laughed,
Wept,
And died!