طرف
| The School of Love Your love taught me how to grieve, While I have been in need, for centuries, For a woman to make me grieve, And to cry upon her arms Like a sparrow... For a woman to gather my pieces Like clusters of broken crystal.. Your love taught me, my lady, my worst habits. It taught me how to foresee my coffee- cup Thousands of times every night, To experience the medicine of herbalists, And knock on the doors of the fortune tellers. It taught me to come out of my house, In order to comb the sidewalks, And chase your face in the raindrops, In the lights of cars, In the unknown apparels, And even to run after your spectrum In the posters of advertisements, And gather millions of stars from your eyes. Your love taught me To wander around, for hours, Searching for a gypsy hair Envied by all the gypsies, Searching for a face, for a voice, Which are all the faces and all the voices... Your love made me enter, my lady, Into the cities of grief while I have never entered The cities of grief before. I never know That tears are a person, and a person without grief Is only a reminiscence of a person... Your love taught me How to behave like teenagers, To draw your face with chalk Upon the walls, Upon the sails of fishermen's boats, On the Church’s bells, on the crucifixes. Your love taught me how love could Change the map of time... Your love taught me, that when I fall in love The earth will stop revolving... Your love taught me things That were never occurred unto me.. Thus I read children's fairytales, Entered the palaces of the Jennies kings, And dreamt to be wedded with the Sultan's daughter... Those eyes are more apparent Than the water of a lagoon Those lips more luscious Than the flower of pomegranates. And I dreamt that I kidnapped her like a knight And dreamt I gave Her the garlands of pearl and coral stones. Your love taught me, my lady, What hallucination might bring.... It taught me how life may surpass Without the coming of the Sultan's daughter... Your love taught me How to love you in all the things, In the naked trees, in the yellow dry leaves, In a rainy day, in the tempest, In a smallest café where we drink in the evening Our black coffee.. Your love taught me...to seek refuge, to seek refuge in hotels without names, In churches without names... In cafes without names... Your love taught me how night Could proliferate the Strangers’ grief . It taught me how to behold Beirut A woman, tyrant of temptation, A woman, wearing every evening the most beautiful clothing she possesses, and sprinkling perfume upon her breasts, For the fisherman, and the princes. Your love taught me how to cry without account. It taught me how grief slumbers Like a boy with his feet cut off In the streets of Rouche and Hamra. Your love taught me how to grieve, And I have been in need, for centuries, For a woman to make me grieve, For a woman, to cry upon her arms Like a sparrow For a woman to gather my pieces Like clusters of broken crystal... Translated by Munir Mezyed All rights reserved, © Munir Mezyed.2006 Copying without permission for non-personal use is forbidden. |
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