My great grandfather
orders me not to stay awake late,
not to loiter at the street corner
waiting for ‘Dunya',
the beauty of the district,
passing by me.
i get drunk from her scent.
My great grandfather
orders me not to peep at her
when, on the roof of her house,
with her soft hands,
she stretches a clothesline
to hang her laundry.
She sits, relaxed,
exposing her legs,
absent-minded, singing:
‘Fire! Fire!
Your love is fire! '
To my great-grandfather,
i'm not the favourite one,
but i always come to him,
i kiss his right hand.
In silence, i sit between his hands,
a child,
i don't dare to look in his eyes.
i ask for candy.
He gives me some.
i complain about the kids in our lane.
He keeps his silence.
It thunders in my heart:
No justice today!
Today, the scale broke,
and the snake ate the sparrow,
and my great-grandfather's stature
no longer has authority.
Nothing remained today
but ‘Dunya',
the beauty of the district,
on the roof of her house singing:
‘Fire! Fire!
Your love is fire! '
Nothing today but
a noble's sorrow
learning from a prophet's sorrow
who bemoans his lack of power.
He hears the god of the house saying:
‘You are not dear to us! '
Tears flood his eyes
and fire blazes on!
and fire blazes on!
08 October 2007
16 October 2007
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sayed, wonderful write and thanks to your great inspiration, your great grandfather...keep it up for more beautiful write :)