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قافیه‌ای برای معلقات :: محمود درویش

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No one guided me to myself I am the guide Between desert and sea, I am my own guide to myself Born of language on the road to India between two small tribes adorned by the moonlight of ancient faiths and an impossible peace compelled to guard the periphery of a Persian neighborhood and the great obsession of the Byzantines so that the heaviness of time lightens over the Arab's tent Who am I? This is a question that others ask, but have no answer I am my language I am an ode, two odes, ten This is my language. I am my language I am words' writ: Be! Be my body And I become an embodiment of their timbre I am what I have spoken to the words: Be the place where my body joins the eternity of the desert Be, so that I may become my words No land on earth bears me Only my words bear me, a bird born from me who builds a nest in my ruins before me and in the rubble of the enchanting world around me I stood on a wind, and my long night without end This is my language a necklace of stars around the necks of my loved ones They emigrated They carried the place and emigrated they carried time and emigrated They lifted their fragrances from their bowls. They took their bleak pastures and emigrated. They took the words and the ravaged heart left with them Will the echo, this echo, this white, sonorous mirage hold a name whose hoarseness fills the unknown and whom departure fills with divinity? The sky opened a window for me. I looked I looked and found nothing but myself I saw myself outside itself as it has always been, and my desert-haunted visions My steps are wind and sand my world is my body and what I can hold onto I am the traveler and also the road. Gods appear to me and dissappear We don't linger upon what is to come There is no tomorrow in this desert, save what we saw yesterday so let me brandish my ode to break the cycle of time, and let there be beautiful days! How much past tomorrow holds! I left myself to itself, a self filled with the present Departure emptied me of temples Heaven has its own nations and wars I have a gazelle for a wife, and palm trees for odes in a book of sand What I see is the past For mankind, a kingdom of dust and a crown Let my language overcome my hostile fate Let it overcome my line of descendants, me, my father and a vanishing that won't vaninsh This is my language, my miracle my magic wand This is gardens of my Babylon my obelisk my first identity, my polished metal the desert idol of an Arab who worships what flows from rhymes like stars in his aba' and who worships his own words So let there be prose There must be a prose for the Prophet to triumph

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Posted by: echem on Oct 31, 2015

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