One more unpublished poem by Ahmed Nada, whose details (such as they are) are in this earlier post. If you are interested in reading more of Ahmed’s poetry in Arabic, he publishes much of it on his Facebook page, which is here.
All one, whether I set my foot on the ground or fling it up, I told myself
I saw Mayakovsky carrying his head, full of flies and slogans
I saw my grandfather reciting the Verse of Repentance, intent on the bismillah
I saw my sweetheart and was silent
As she watched the ballerinas intently rend the tendons in their knees
I slip my soul out of red tape and cough suppressants
And I cough and am in transports
My eyes claim their due of light, I wear glasses to help me rub along in company
I wear glasses to seem older
I speak to the chair on which I sit and its oldest leg falls away
It shouts, If you had Jesus’ intuition you’d have spread your weight evenly and not fallen
I fell full length on my right side
Facing the qibla, puked up all the love I possess
Heavy with wise words and blame and news reports
Heavy even with myself
All one, whether I pen my own plays or plagiarise, I told myself
Ah my heavy skin, white unlike the family
My dark uncle scans the genome printout
Whispers to the village that something’s gone awry in the divine plan
The village wise men knock him back, eyes on the Prophet’s line
Knowing truth is just a tilt at a calmer death
Shaving their skulls for feast days and tragedies
Depositing a hunk of human flesh in the pavilions of the sun
—the sun’s not so familiar with my skin, delighting in the games of childhood chromosomes—
I greeted the shoreline with swelling thyroid
No iodine almost
No cliches about the sea
The water boils when the sun blues
And draws a hand’s breadth nearer
I would befriend strangers because they didn’t care
Didn’t ask if I was in earnest or just killing time
—Time’s corpse is snug in my pocket and drips out details no one heeds—
I carry night from its midpoint
Cram it into grievance
Then bury it in soil that brings forth fortune-tellers
I wait for one bright colored
Not to foretell the future but to fix it to my fancy
Usurping happy endings
Agh!
Too late for me to choose
What might keep me glad
And so my rancour will devour me
Though I possess the delusion entire: I take myth over quantifiable phenomena
Exploiting the fact that I reside in nothingness
All one, whether they—these normals—kill me
Or drag me by the hair and plunge my head into the toilet bowl
I shall laugh until my lungs fill with water
I shall laugh, assuredly naked,
Naked whatever the case
And leave all the houses
Picking up another thread of my life
That I till now don’t know
But will, assuredly.
