Translation for my poem "Moon on the Sidewalks of the Wretched قمر على أرصفة الحزانى"

Here is a translation of my poem "Moon on the Sidewalks of the Wretched قمر على أرصفة الحزانى" translated by Munir Mezyed by the initiative of "From Ocean to Gulf" forums, the translation is not bad for such a complicated poem in Arabic, hope you enjoy reading it ..

p.s to read the original Arabic poem u can always visit my Arabic Blog and you can find that specific poem Here


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Moon on the Sidewalks of the Wretched
By Rifqi Assaf
Translated By Munir Mezyed


The space constricts me
And night looses breezes from its locks that never sleep.
In summer dreams gulls are the size of the memory of the spars and the sail...
As for the sun is kohl in the eye …and expatriate surging with its gray shadow
On the thresholds.
Perfume that blended with notion, if you know,
Has no pride.
The pavements are cold where the good ones gallivant
Death is pure, preserving vagina, protecting rain from the Narcissus slips
The Closed doors are homelands that have the color of groans of the transients
In the narrow streets
And Amman drinks its exhaustion at the door of an old bar in Al-Wabideh Mount

We were walking,
And Allah loved us…
We were carrying the wall on our shoulders to take refuge from the springs of perfume which hailing us
To execute the supreme virtue…
The poor were passing by under the trees
Bowing their foreheads
And saluting others…


Peace on the books lying on the floor, sick after it had forgotten their titles.
Conjunctivitis eat the eye of the stand’s owner who has not slept since a minaret passed by
Echoing from behind the Lord’s name
Exalting His name

In Raghadan main bus station
So many dead ones died..

The barefooted ones were scurrying over the hot asphalt
And sleeping on the same cold pavement
And wrapping themselves in a newspaper hardly they cared about its name
Or the news about Byzantine that fell because the monks were asking for sex of the angels
Or the news of "Nebuchad- Nezzar "
Or "Cyrus" or "Ahmadinejad" or "Wane Rooney"
Or the sand where the naked women from a different place sleep as the sun is no longer for free


The cafes are
Selling sleep
With the price of the cup of flavored tee
That chills like the chilling blood in the veins
Before they had been drunk by the lad embracing the black-pale bag like his soul
Which is full of metal and human’s limbs collected from gazes’ arrogance
And the Jeans- Buttocks
The sea is not blue
This is another lie
Color is but the reflection of the sky … and the refraction of light ..
And the breaking of the sad hearts at the doors of the hotels that have monopolized the beaches
And the Tears monopolized the salt
Here...
Even the seas die

The poor
Borrow a sea
A window
And a vast tomb
On a dull corner crowded with packed paces

Crowd has its solemnity
As ants have
You can not count the passersby nor can you scrutinize their faces
Nor can you perceive the reason why they appear one whose face keeps repeating
Why they are not well..

Cloud has no friends
Because the short friendship doesn’t last
It disappears in the sad memory of telephones’ book which thrown in worn pockets…
Or we live in the bosoms of those who can not keep a memory in their pockets beside food
And roam the asphalt that embellished with roses, embroidered with tires of a woman’s car who doesn’t truly deserve to walk on earth…
The night was betraying my image in the mirror a
And my voice echoed in the corridors
Deluding the Ghosts curtains into believing that heart is as white as a flock of white pigeons

At the door of the city
The prophets stood in the queue of leaving
And departed