For my ribs prepared to stillness!

For my ribs prepared to stillness!
By:
Mukhtar Issa
Translated by:
Hassan Hegazy Hassan
__________________
Perhaps, I can do it, but,
I am the one who called all of you twice
to exchange the anthem
and left you twenty times
Perhaps, I can do it, but,
to change my dress
without giving the camera
a discounted ticket
to attend the concert
With the maestro!
………
 

I may have left my perfume
hanging on your gloomy dark windows
in winter
Like the coat of Marilyn Monroe
Or the cloak of my grandfather
who did not see me.
They told me that I do not look like him
except in stubbornness!

I'll be grateful to my grandmother
who, honestly, delivered the message to me
With the least cost of tears;
So, I was alone filled with ecstasy,
and recited Surah Al-Asr,
then I declared my suicide,
drenched in a setting sun,
and a gypsy dance for my ribs
that prepared for stillness!

I may have called you all of a sudden,
don't tell friends about the time of mourning
on the corpse of the dream!
..............
It may be better for you
Who stand on my edge
reciting your sorrows with cold tears,
to practice my bleeding,
far away from the poets of modernity,
away from your false bandages,
your national anthems,
and their excellencies, those who are painting
their names with oils
and showing kindness to the orphans
in front of cameras and media
at coronation ceremonies…

I leave you for an ad break;
to swallow sadness alone,
not paying attention to my tears,
and extending false fingers…
Only he is the photographer
who knows their lengths,
And my heart knows the colors of their nails;
that is their smell,

and these are their wrong actions
make friends with those above the above the law
as a new teacher with the teachings of Buddha,
and the decisions of the Writers' Union.
Perhaps, I can refer to your friendly viruses:
Don't go to the frivolous
and let's pass our deal in the evening
With two new versions
From the book of pity!
............
The angel may land in Babylon
and the holy devil pours out
the bottle of alcohol to the full
on the imam’s clothes;
He may restore his direction (qiblah) stealthily,
Cursing the book of globalization
from its hundred gates,
As he improvises the Eid sermon,
granting the public, a date of the resurrection,
playing his televised anthem:
"There is no longer a verse in the breasts
valid to lamentation!"
May be, maybe friends...
Tomorrow, you will be in the flames!