Foto:
POESI / LIBYEN

SAMIRA AL-BOUZIDI

SAMIRA AL-BOUZIDI

translation: MAMON ZAIDY

Poem

I am immortal in someone’s story

I don’t crash, I don’t get defeated, and I don’t

break

But I get distracted all the time

I wasted my years jumping between the banks

In the making of legends

mute fantasies,

I rode up a mountain

She dived into the sea of a story he could not

read

Only children and lunatics and blue butterflies

flying between you and me.

I hide a rose in my hair

was hidden in a colored cloth

Finally hide from me!

The whole story is an escape in an escape.

I feel hungry, so I open a book

I digest music at the speed of light

I fast from talking for a while

Enough to love or kill!

The night differs with the day

My look and your mirage

Even your strange voice

in this world

Nothing is running smoothly

It must be sad

I grew up

Like everything gets old

And like others

My features change

But my heart is still the same

White and full of windows

I am now without dreams or a torn net of

hopes with which to catch illusion

Crazy as God created me

And comfortable without questions and

without waiting

Soon the word will die inside me

And the sound of poetry fades

It would be difficult to find a different expres-

sion

That’s why I write and erase until dawn comes

Birds sing in the school anthem.

I disappear for days, months and years

And when I go out

Grass has grown on my back

I come from the rainy ages

I carry the moan of extinct forests.

I will not say who I am

It is enough to stare at the words

And eavesdrop on the wind

I’m that roar.

When winter comes again

And lightning slaps the face of the world

Raindrops the size of lemons will fall from the

clouds

I will go out to meet the wind

I know their sad names

Crazy recipes

I lay on the ground the ashes of my heart

To disgrace it without mercy

To remember each time that I died a thousand

years ago

What remains of me is this words that I write.

I may smell you close to me

I might get lost in your pale shadow

Because I come back to life for these simple

ideas.

This strange midnight tranquility

This room and the monotonous ticking of the

clock how it repeats itself every time

I breathe the smell of silence and dirt

The smell of days gone by

Names whose features have been forgotten

This world is strange to the limit of the impos-

sible

We spin non-stop looking for truth, love and

freedom

But in the end we write about the bitter fall into

delusion

Everything changed.

When my mom died

The taste of life has become bitter

My face withered

And my song became dumb

Life tells me

O daughter of the word

Don’t let your braid fall into a void

Don’t let the night steal your wanderlust

You are the shining star

You are the voice that will remain after everyo-

ne else is gone.