ترجمة:وصال العلاّق
تجُاورُني العصافيرُ النحيفةُ ،
تَشتهي تعَبي ،
تُبلَّلُني كآبتُها ،
فأحرسُ نومَ سيَّدتي ،وأكتبُ :
نومُها ماءٌ ، وأُكمِلُ:
وردةٌ في البابْ
تُعطَّرُ رملَ أيّامي،
وتوقظ شهوة الأعشابْ ..
إذا ما رشّت العزلانُ
وحشتَها المبلَّلةَ ، اختلطنا
نحنُ والرملُ الفُراتيُّ ،
استدارتْ وحشتي شجراً ومجذافاً
و “راوةُ” سعفةٌ في القلب ،
عاشَرَني هواها الشاحبُ ، الصيفيُّ ،
حاصَرَني على أبوابِها الحُراسُ ،
همهمتِ القبائلُ :
إنّه الغجريُّ،
طافحةٌ كآبتُهُ، احتَمى
بالرملِ والفُقراءِ ..
كان الدمعُ أخشنَ من غُبارِ الصخرِ ،
كانَ الجوعُ يقطرُ من أصابعهِ ،
انكَسَرْتُ، كأنّني قَدَحُ
و “راوةُ” في دمي
طيُر من الفضَّة ..
أجيُئكِ ، إنّني جمٌر يغّني
ونافذٌة مطاردةٌ ،
وبابُ
أجيئُك شاحباً، كالرملِ ، خشْناً
وفي كفَيَّ ينتحِبُ التُرابُ ..
أجيُئكِ ،
لو شمَمْتِ رمادَ وجهي ،
لفاَحَ الدمعُ
واشتعلَتْ ثيابُ ..
أغنّي حولَ سيّدتي ،
وأحرسُ نومَها المائيَّ ، أفتَحُ جمرَها ،
يأتي المساكينُ، الغزالاتُ،
العصافيرُ النحيفَةُ ،
خَشْنَةً في البَردْ ..
تجاورُني،
وتتركُ فوقَ قمصان
حصىً ..
أو وحشةً ..
أو وردْ ..
Guardians to my beloved’s sleep
Those slender birds surround my soul
Craving my weariness
They shower me with their melancholy
So I guard my lady’s sleep as I begin to write:
Her sleep is as soft as dew, and I proceed,
She is a rose at my doorway,
Spreading her scent upon my dreary days,
As she awakens purity’s desire
And if the deer would sprinkle their delicate oneliness,
We and the Sand of the Euphrates collide
My loneliness turns to trees on both banks, and a row guiding me through its troubled waters,
And “Rawah” will always be the green part of my heart
Her pale summer love remains my companion, yet:
Guards cornered me at her entrance,
as I hear the tribes murmuring:
It is the gypsy! He is drowning in his sorrow
The sand and the deprived are his only shelter
His tears were as harsh the dust crowning the rocks
Hunger dripped from his finger tips.
I broke as if I were a glass and “Rawah” remains a lark of silver wandering through my veins.
I come to thee, a singing flame,
a hunted pane
And a doorway.
I come to thee, pale as the sand and just as rough while dust weeps in the palms of my hands
I come to thee,
If only you would smell the ashes of my face
Your tears will fall
to set your garments on fire
I surround my beloved with sweet songs
& guard her tender sleep
I set her fire of yearning free
And this is how they come to me:
The misfortunate, The deer,
The slender birds!
All rough in the coldest hours
They gather beside me
Covering my garments
With stones, or loneliness, or flowers .