Four Poems by Moayyad al-Rawi

 

A cloud in the head brought down the stars,

like a tent the darkness stood

as the lanterns lighted and dimmed,

wherever, and whenever they were meant to.

Perchance they’re operated by ghosts that you don’t see

with your eyes always shut,

entering and leaving cities

for scorched cities lacking radiance, 

leaving the houses and the alleys 

for the passers-by to roam, 

corpses stripped of their skins

without feet

 

 

After the quiet of years

After time had closed its exits before us,

we wanted to evoke the past

so that it would open for us a road to the old joy, 

but were prevented by the legacy of the axe on our sick hearts.

We have tried and are still trying, 

But our conversations were unable to strike a spark

To kindle the old fire.

 

At the end of the day

Once we extinguished the stars

We stood before the door with bent heads,

Our words the ruins of things and events

Burdening the space and scattering the old happiness.

Thus we parted in the darkness of exile.

She, as was her wont, went to the jungle

To tame the lions,

And I 

To the desert

To listen to the howling of the jackals

 

 

Words are fortified, rich in and of themselves,

they multiply and replicate if you want to generate meanings.

You are the lord of words that you narrate as you please, if you want:

The words are visible carved out in the rock.

The night, the stone, the trees and the murder victim.

The night is ghosts, thieves and murderers;

the stone builds a city overrun by epidemics

and bridges swept by the flood.

The city is afflicted with hunger and the plague,

the city of the poor,

the city of the thieves,

the city of gun-toting, hardened criminals,

where hatred roams.

 

 

Here you are in the presence of feebleness,

Your feasts are done. 

Standing before a rising wall, 

that blocks your exits.

What would you do in the absence of air,

amid the crowded anxieties and the coming illusions,

surrounded by darkness?

You’re a captive of repeated advice

with which you’re saddled.

Who would you expect to change words in you 

into false rituals?

Because the words

remain words

like an echo 

fading 

in a deep cavern.