Desires

Cover art by Fuad Alyamani

Translated by Fadwa Al Qasem

(1)

Desires 

I have a desire to kill myself, a few times a month,

To kill the voice inside my head, a few times a minute. 

I have a desire to kiss myself in the mirror, a few times a year, 

To kiss your forehead, for a whole year. 

I yearn to throw myself into a bottomless pit,  

To embrace you as I fall into an endless pit. 

I don't want to hear laughter from the neighbor’s house, 

I don't want to hear it when I'm alone. 

I yearn to be greeted by a cat as I pass through the neighborhood, 

I yearn to embrace cats infested with fleas. 

I crave eating a whole loaf of white bread, 

I crave eating a sandwich filled with all kinds of meat. 

I want to spit on the neck of the first policeman I see in the morning, 

I want to shake hands with every child wearing a green hat. 

I want to stab a fat man in the street, 

To witness the candy exploding from his belly. 

I want to ignite fire in the yellow plains, 

I want to pour the sea into a glass bottle, 

And break it on the pavement. 

I want to fight with a huge man, to receive a slap 

That would prove to me, I am weaker than I think.

(2)

Truth Rejects Me, Imagination Doesn’t Remember Me 

I am in the mirror, convincing to a certain extent, 

I am in a dirty mirror, more convincing, 

I am in the reflection of a store window, 

A poor imitation of what I should be. 

I am alone, in the reflection of a crowded bar, 

As close to truth as it gets

I, alone, in the reflection of a cold teapot, 

My hands extended thousands of kilometers 

My eyes lost between here and there, 

Between matter and soul. 

Imagination pulls me by the hand, chews me up and spits me out, 

Changing my features time and time again. 

Reality rejects me upon my return, disapproving of my appearance. 

But imagination, it doesn’t remember me,

And I, I find no home in either.

(3)

Babylon the Colony 

Here in Babylon the colony, 

A copper cage replaced the walls, 

Under the sun, a watchtower is illuminated 

by a Polish teenager's cigarette, 

His plastic crown, his iron weapon. 

The enchanting crowing of a rooster, 

The wails of gunfire, 

The gentle breezes that used to 

Innocently caress our hair, 

The deflected bullets

Driven by animal desire 

Impatient to violate our bodies, 

Penetrating the hearts of our mothers

before tearing through our chests, 

Scattering our warm, delicate intestines. 

And we, like our intestines, coil around ourselves 

In a barren desert,

Searching for the promised oasis of tranquility, 

Or something akin to the silence of the smokers corner

In a European airport, 

A quiet whistle pressed between our wooden lips, 

Humming a bedtime lullaby, 

Guarding it from the rabid white screams 

And the cement paths whose den

Awakens those who have fallen into a sleep 

closer to death in its stillness, 

There they went, 

Having succumbed to a quiet, terrified whistle, 

That sleeps while sucking its thumb through the gaps in our teeth.