The Lonely Shepherd of Clouds
Iman Shahin Sharba
And I am the lonely shepherd of the clouds.
I left my poem
In a pot on an old wall.
Birds love the poems
The way, in early morning,
We adore warm cups of water,
Released as breath, forming
A cloud that returns as rain
Filling the empty pot.
I am the lonely shepherd of the clouds.
I train my hand
To catch the light
But I am like a despot
always hoping for a victory.
But the light slips out, runs away--
my fingers grasp the emptiness.
I am the tattoo artist on the cloud's shoulder,
Making sure the design is of my people.
But I have no authority
To force it to rain.
In my heavy dream,
I have no fingers
To feel the terrains of your face,
And in the same dream
You shatter your steps in search of your killed face.
In our heavy dream
Our steps stumble, as if our legs were amputated,
Searching for a homeland.
I won’t count my despairs this evening.
I’ll anticipate the shape of corn like an embryo
Throwing out despair on the ladder
Of the placental cord.
Sadness was born with me
In near anticipation of another fall.
They call it birth.
I won’t count my despairs this evening,
Moments of happiness are enough,
Along with the laughter of your eyes
When I am flaring with desire.
And when the moon is mumbling
And its cheeks blushing with jealousy of us,
it is enough for me—
After seven stars--
before my desired absence
Translation from Arabic to English: Saleh Razzouk** & Philip Terman
* poet from Syria
**assistant prof. at The University of Aleppo (Syrai)
***prof. at Clarion University (USA)
started 1 MAY 2010 email : email@example.com
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