|
الشَّاعِرُ المَحْزُونُ ..
يَحْمِلُ الحَقَائِبَ القَدِيمَة
ويمضغُ التاريخَ
ويشحذُ القريحةَ العَقِيمَة
مُسَافِرٌ يُسَائِلُ الزَّمَان
عن بيتِهِ . . عن أَهْلِهِ . .
عن عُمْرِهِ . .
في رِحْلَةِ الإحْبَاطِ والحِرْمَان
عن نَثرِهِ . .
عن شِعْرِهِ المدفونِ في مَغَاوِرِ
النِّسْيَان
مُسَافِرٌ يُقَلِّب الصَّفَحَاتِ
من أَيَّامِهِ
ويمضغُ الأَحْدَاثَ مِنْ أَعْوَامِهِ
يفتّشُ المنازلَ القَدِيمَة
يَتَلَمّس الجُدْرَان
فلربما تأتي الحَبِيبَةُ
مَا عَادَ يُذْكُر إِسْمَهَا
آهٍ لعَلَّها نَجَوى . .
هُدَى . . سُوزَان
لعَلَّها تأتي مَعَ النسَاءِ في
الصَّبَاح
لتملأَ الجِرَار
من بِئْرِنَا العَمِيقَةِ القَرَار
* * *
الشَّاعِرُ المَحْزُونُ يَسْأَلُ نَفْسَهُ
أينَ الرِّفَاق ؟
ويَصْفَعُ الجَبِين ..
كَأَنَّهُ يُخَاطِبُ الحَنِينَ والأَشْوَاق
لَعَلَّهُ قَدْ تَاهَ في الصَّحْرَاء
أو ضَاعَ في مَوَاكِبِ الإعياءِ
والإرْهَاق
*
* *
الشَّاعِرُ
المَحْزُونُ
يَفْتَحُ الحَقَائِبَ القَدِيمَة
وينثرُ الأوراقَ في عُرْضِ الطريق
وينثرُ الأشعارَ والقصائدَ اللعينة
وَيُشْعِلُ الحَرِيق
فتضحكُ البنات
وَتَسْخَر النِّسَاء
والشَّاعِرُ المَحْزُون يَذْرف الدُّمُوع
ويبدأ البكاء
ويخدشُ الخدودَ بالأظافرِ الطويلة
فَتَصْرُخُ البناتُ
وتولولُ النسوان
لَكِنَّهُ يَذُوبُ
في سَحَائِبِ الدُّخَان |
behold ! the
saddened poet walking
clinching to an old portfolio,
absent-mindedly chewing on his past
as if begging his barren genius
for some thoughts
and ideas.
behold him wandering around
asking time the
whereabouts,
of his old house
and its people.
what went wrong with his life
in a journey so
voiding and so ungiving.
but still searching for some poetry
burried and lost
in the hollows
of his forgetful
memory.
behold this
wanderer..
flipping one page
after another,
of the days gone by
still looking..and examening
every happening
of his recent
passing years.
searching for her in
one old house
after another,
anoiting them wall after wall
hoping to find a
lover,
whose name could
not recall.
was it..Najwa?or Huda
or perhaps
Suzanne?
perhaps ,he
thought,if he waits by the well,
she would come to
fill her vessel,
like the rest of the women
and see her
amongst them.
behold this saddened poet
talking to
himself,wondering,
where all his
friends went.
but denyingly,
slaps his face silly;
"what happened to
me?
it had to be
my yearning and longing that caused
me
this pain of a drifter lost in a
desert
or the pain of a
lost one
amid clamour and
tiresome".
behold ! the saddened poet
open his
portfolio of old poems,
piling them across the road
like a bad
curse,so dire.
he sets them on
fire,
before the very eyes
of giggling
teens,
and belittling
women.
but the sad poet drops the tears
as he begins to
weep.
he walks toward
the burning heap,
bleeding through
his cheeks.
suddenly they
started to yell and scream,
as he disappears
behind the smoke
screen...
|