Dead words promised in my veins
Shine to heal your severing pains
To maim your severed-to-be time
For wisdom is sought in Will’s rime.
Nightmares pregnant of wounds
Clinging with so many a hand
To my elequent silenced words,
Funeral crowds wailing at night
Majestically crossing left and right
The gloomy paths of my blood…
What a life early married to confiscation
And for life to be sold to oblivion !
A recluse of a time with giant strides
I see a sole mother to my sides
To tear up my senses in deafness,
And , for a death with no nothingness.
Deep shall I bear refusal roots
Of a consoling cynical indignation
And my dreams with no completion
Tatooed in my veins , dormant riots.
I find no ear to harbour my sound
And none to heal any of my wounds,
Painfully shall I bear the despondency
Of a time stumbling to look and never see.
Deaf-mute is my absence-presence
In a blood sullen autumn
And in your eternal absence
I’ll initiate myself , O freedom,
To the art of dying times a day _
I‘ll fling the dice for my way.
I beg the possibility of conquering
Those green meadows of silence
Where prisoner poets weave green verses
To win you to divorce your ignorance.
A second-hand soul mourning loud
To heal mine strewn with swords
Virgin still her spirit is in a shroud
For lack of passion in your love jars.
True passion I’d swear in every line,
All my every line , spiritual shelter,
Slides from so shine to so pine
Spouse of none , proud spinster.
In yonder forest where free birds
Enslaved to the seasons of her woods
Meseems never fail their holy rites
The time the sun rises till she sets.
I play chess and I drown my sins
In the darkness of your dead eyes,
In the storm of your dull clarity
To lose the game and be master to your mystery.
I rush off , I seek your fair doom
Wrapped in a shroud, my eternal home
Where bloody wounds of all time
Befriend my soul in false mime.
Eternally shall I ever break my fast
To yield to no ignorance tempest;
My soul shall trust to your poetic tomb
Her spirit, my apocalyptic womb.
W.aziz 1988
