تَحْلِيقَاتٌ سَمَاوِيَّةٌ! / آمال عوّاد رضوان
شَبَحُ دَمْعَتِي.. غَمْغَمَ عَلَى ثدْيِ عَاقِرٍ
مَرَّغَنِي.. بِزَفَرَاتِ غَيْمَةٍ تَذْرِفُكِ
فِي بِرْكَةٍ مُشَرَّعَةٍ لِلذِّكْرَى!
مِنْ سَرَادِيبِ مَمَاتِي انْسَابَ أَلَمِي
أَثِيرَ آمَالٍ
وَنِيرَانُكِ الثَّلْجِيَّةُ
تُعَطِّرُ قمْصَانِي
بِمَلاَمِحِكِ الْمُتْخَمَةِ بِالْمَطَرِ!
مُخْمَلِيٌّ بُؤْبُؤُ مُرِّكِ
مَمْشُوقَةٌ أَعَاصِيرُ سُلْطَانِهِ
كَمْ أَدْنَانِي مِنْ كِسْرَةِ كَفَافِكِ
فِي حَلَقَاتِ جَوْعَى
وَكَمْ أَقْصَانِي عَنْ رَقْصَةِ مَائِكِ
فِي تَحْلِيقَاتِكِ السَّمَاوِيَّة!
لِمَ أَدُسُّ أَنَامِلِي الْمَاطِرَةَ شُمُوعًا
فِي كُهُوفِ الْهَبَاءِ وَالْجَفَاءِ؟
وَحَقّ سِحْرِ صَوْتِكِ
الْـ يُضِيئُنِي!
أَنَا مَا عَزَفَنِي قَوْسُ وَفَائِي
إِلّا عَلَى أَوْتَارِ عِنَاقٍ
كَمْ صَدَحَتْ أَنْفَاسُ كَمَانِهِ كَمَان!
يَا ابْنَةَ السَّوَاقِي
اُغْرفِينِي حِكَايَةً عِطْرِيَّةً
تَبْحَثُ عَنْ وَجْهِهَا فِي مِرْآتِكِ
لاَ تَجُزّي لُؤْلُؤَ نَبْضِي
فَمَا تَغَرْغَرَ إِيقَاعُ مُزْنِي إِلّا بِقَلْبِكِ
وَمَا اكْتَمَلَتْ مَسَاءَاتُ بَرِيقِي
إِلاَّ بِهُطُولِكِ الْمُشْرِق!
Divine Elevations
By: Amal Awad Radwan-(Palestine)
Translated by: Fathia Asfour
Palestinian poet & tranlator
Divine Elevations
*The ghost of my tear mumbles
on a barren woman’s breast….
rolls me in the moans of a cloud that sheds you in a pond,
wide open for remembrance
Out of my death crypts ..
my pain flows ether of hopes…
and your snowy fires
get my shirts perfumed with your features…
those overfilled with rain
*Velvet …is the pupil of your bitterness
Slender are the hurricanes of its dominion
How it drew me close to a fragment
of your subsistence
in the sessions of hungry ascetics !!
And how it drew me far away
from your waterdance
through your divine elevations !!
So why thrusting my fingertips…
those raining candles..
in the caves of dust and harshness?
By the charm of your voice..
that which illuminates me!..
the bow of my loyalty strummed me
not but on hugging strings
How the breaths of its violin warbled as well !
O you , the daughter of the runnels!
Scoop me up an aromatic tale
looking for its face in your mirror !
Shear not the pearl of my pulsing…
For the rhythm of my rainclouds
had not gargled but in your heart …
and the evenings of my luster
could not have been perfect
without your bright rainfall
