Adeeb Kamal Ad-Deen

The Party - Poem by Adeeb Kamal Ad-Deen

The letter dropped
And the age walking on one crutch was lost,
Dropped and lost,
Lost and slipped
Slipped and annihilated,
Annihilated and got electrified,
Got electrified and fused,
Fused and disappeared,
Disappeared, thus, the doors broke.
I entered on the horse of disappointment
Holding my sword,
Unsheathing my torture and words,
My right and light.
And I cried
But the letter broke tonight
I got for it a funeral
I invited nobody but myself
When myself attended, I closely examined it
I got sure that it did not hold
A prohibited thing,
Then, I shed on it the light of my blood.
Something with the majesty of the letter appears
Together with the images of the naked childhood,
And the toothless Euphrates,
And the infinite disappointments,
Then, I cried: Oh, the letter dropped
O crazy people!
Attention! The party is violent
(And you do not lack lies)
The party will start with lies.
(Beware not to enter through the dancers' door)
Then, the tears start to drop
And I will explain to you a thousand
Of my tragic scenes,
As well as of my father's, grandfather's,
And son's
Whoever takes part in this crazy party
Will be terminated!
The letter dropped
Hence, I will read to you my soul
On the anvil of the poem,
And the poem on the anvil of death,
And death on the anvil of the dawn,
And the dawn on the anvil of the dreams
Those are choked by water,
Water, water and water.
I will read to you my outside nakedness
To drop to my inside nakedness.
I dream that you will die
To get rid of your shallowness,
You... tough shoeless!
O the poets who got themselves lost
But they did not get lost!
The sound of music comes roaring, roaring
To cover the sound of letter's fall.
O the naked!
The letter's fall is glorious.
Death stands at the door
And we missed our suns in searching for bread
But we did not find salt.
We searched for salt
But we did not find the memory.
We searched for the memory
But we did not find clothes.
We searched for clothes
But we did not find the shirt.
We searched for the shirt
But we did not find the turban.
The letter dropped.
I found the turban was stained with blood,
Perfumed with dream.
And in the middle of it
The sun of mirrors brightened.. brightened
So you rejoiced
I said to you rejoice
O the naked, rejoice
The letter is dropping … dropping
We get lost in the middle
Of our black nakedness
That filled, for us, everything.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, September 5, 2013

Poem Edited: Thursday, September 5, 2013

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