Hoda Ablan
Hoda Ablan Poems
Whenever I return to the playground of the past
peering into its deceptive spaces
I see your shirt, but not you
your smile, but not you
...
Sometimes, at nightfall, I break down and cry
Then I resent my tears, which have illuminated the world
...
Barefoot, they run from their past
from hands waving behind a heavy wall
and trembling mothers who anoint themselves with a final tear
...
You are there, building a home
and I am here, demolishing a memory
Your home, which will be open to all
...
Between us is night with its flickering features
a star, stripped of her gown of memories
pasted bare in distant space.
...
Whenever the cold pavements stretch before me
and the warmth of my quilt dwindles away
I take him from my memory box
and light him, a matchstick of tenderness.
...
My mother suspected that whatever was visiting me
in my sleep would rattle the roof of our house
and that my heart was defiled above all else by love
...
Hoda Ablan Biography
Hoda Ablan (born 1971) is a Yemeni poet. She was born in Ibb and studied at the University of Sanaa, obtaining a Masters degree in political science in 1993. Her first collection of poetry Wurud shaqiyat al-malamih (Roses with Mischievous Features) was published in Damascus in 1989. She has since published several other poetry collections. Her work has appeared in translation in several outlets including two issues of Banipal magazine (issues 8 and 36). Her poetry was also anthologised in a 2001 collection titled The poetry of Arab women : a contemporary anthology, edited by Nathalie Handal. Ablan has served as the secretary-general of the Yemeni Writers Union. She is married with children.)
The Best Poem Of Hoda Ablan
Hurt
To my brother Najeeb
Whenever I return to the playground of the past
peering into its deceptive spaces
I see your shirt, but not you
your smile, but not you
your eyes, but not myself
I meet, in what I find of you, the longed-for twilight
of when we were together
on the field of our dreams
and the warm blanket of my mother's stories, embroidered with songs.
Whenever I till the soil of memory
I find you, a stalk of grain aflame with tears
night's fingers snatch at you
alone, you face the wind
throwing into it all you have left.
Whenever I leaf through the pages of our footsteps
I find you hiding between the lines of the story
shivering in the chill of dreams
I drape you in the cloak of my love
shelter you from the bitter cold of distance
kindle your sorrow to warm us till morning.
Don't falter now
for the sake of your two new faces
they have already split away from you
and returned to the playground of the past
running
flinging open the gate of hope.
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9/22/2024 7:37:56 AM # 1.0.0.1119
