Our house was small, but it's full, all my family in it,
Men and women cooed, the elders laughed and children played,
Though no one complained or groaned. All like sprightly men.
We had time to tell the longest story enthusiastically,
We had time to savor the delicious homemade food,
We were poor but you came and stayed many months with us.
Now our house is big, but it's empty, all our broken hearts apart,
everyone is busy, everyone hurriedly scribbled a note, excuse me, I'm in hurry,
I reckon our connection was old fashioned, I don't know, I have no idea.
Now you are busy, you couldn't even listen to me,
We haven't time to cook, we go out shamelessly,
We are rich but we scarcely saw each other.
We reluctantly agreed to talk each other casually,
Maybe my poetry and my story don't seem worthwhile to read.
Your bruised treasury is pathetic unless you would be genuinely connected.
Before you would see me in the street and you couldn't recognize my face.
Please say yes to my invitation, I remain faithful to my fertile connection,
Please say yes to my invitation, I'm committed to my huge connection,
We are created all together, to keep in touch with each other,
You Could recover my injured soul, the fatalism would be better again,
I and you Could turn the past into renewed memories at least once again.
Abderrahmane Dakir © 2018
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem