Oh my mother
Buried in the earth and yet
Avowing intense love
As if YOU are the heart of heaven.
Who besides her…
A women who gave life’s insanity harmonious pleasure
Conceded to the isolated womb warmth that stimulates childhood’s blindness
Pursued developing seeds like spikes devoted to the liberating wind.
Like a rose she lived a short and torpid life
Never lamenting departure nor excessive thorns
Though the fold of each prosperous branch blooms as red as twilight
Donating to the river of passion like a bold yet sincere heart.
A candle not fearing the overwhelming darkness nor the furious violence
It instead attends to the embers that pierce the ribs
Like the wrap that enflames the well of love
And only sees earth’s water.
That is how “Mawza” treated the invasive pain
With solemn tears that smoothed the declining cheeks,
Dampening the esteemed cradle,
Every child’s wish, every mellowed gulp of consumed air.
Like the fruit that hangs affectionately to the tree not seeing tomorrow’s fall
A woman like jasmine drinks of the womb’s glimmering hope of paradise
Without forgetting the confusions of the past, does not chance the destructiveness of melancholy
Like a cloud welcoming the roar of thunder,
Offering gifts of pleasure that slowly dry up…
Alone…who else:
An expanding garden eliminating the dryness of the fence
A flame not protracted from the dread of ashes
A flimsy angel bearing the courage of the sky
With bird wings it gathers the fluffy soul embracing the inflicted terror.
1
“Mawza” embraces in the tranquil blood an originating childhood,
Never weary of the advancing night overwhelmed by moaning tears
Of a laden passing time undeterred by spears
Since the beginning of time,
The evening perceives her love of hanging.
She never despaired from the hardships that wasted her history,
Never, She was determined till the grave:
Mellow like a continuously spoiled maiden
Cunning eyes as wide as the horizon
Enclosed by thick ashy hair…sure to break the shoulders
An incomparable smile…at the least the laugh of the sea
Whiteness that annuls the snows snobbery
A forehead as high as a summit unseen by the foot of the mountain
A women of roses unburdened by aroma
Instead a dewiness that enflames the earth with the rains’ honesty.
Who besides the rain, befriended her last day
Who knows the condition of the slain and all the treacherous clouds
From which the insanity of thunder withdraws the sword of lightening
And the pouring rain,
Drop…drop…till the end of water
Till she knows-alone-the beginning of death.
She was and still is
Part of a grand house
With numerous rooms and heightened ceilings
High walls and one door always open
Surrounded by nine fetuses trembling like feathers
Children rushing to embrace the fold
Of a woman with a relentless heart,
One victories womb
And an oppressive master.
Just like that, like life
Protected by creation she rises every day
Master of wisdom, the bird’s shepherd
2
Hostage to pain, demolisher of nightmares
An infirmed heart, grantor of pleasures
Possessor of accord, an angel at hand
Amused as she turns to see hell behind the mirror
Asking her fractured body: who else besides you?
A short while before death
She was entrusting the future
To apologize for the weariness of pain,
Like a tree attempting survival in spite of the treacheries of earth
With dried roots and leaves falling every autumn
She entrusted the hemorrhaging blood to the requiem of the heart,
Overwhelmed by sorrow and a defiantly bashful lung,
An insufficient whiff of air for a gasp that labors from the roar of death,
A bloodied gasp retrieving the tenderness of life.
A victim willing the air be kind to her kneeling children
Surrounding a bed with a failing lung and shattered blood,
A difficult cure that has not seen a body like hers,
A miserable substitute forcefully extracting the soul from her satiny body
Exuberant she pleads for the voracity of hope
To tend the branches begging for air
Begging fate to release but one branch
That she may die slowly…leisurely…
A last whisper, miserably echoing her final lament
I remember, I died several times whenever she announced the delivery of pain
Whenever the dome of the lung was occupied by the soul
Ah, it is you…
No…do not say…it is her.
A while before the grave,
She was, like an eloquent bird, inhabited by thundering feathers
Bearing a bed that consumed all cures
Aware of the inquisitively approaching darkness of the grave…
Unburdened by the secrecy of its tribulations,
She prayed and praised it.
3
Does my mother’s loss squander the tortured sea
Or has the stressful ferocity of a strange burden occupied my blind solitude
A frightful yearning for a soft lap that can heel all of my life’s losses
A tender scent emitting a whisper of loving embrace for the impaired temples
The last water scented hand of childhood stretches towards me every weary night
For her a road where night never parts
Without curing its sinfully fearful expanse
A soothing smile destroys the poisoning time and penetrates deeply into my blood.
Will I see her now…
A Delighted face attended by the depth of pain
A body distressed by a silent bed and shrouded by charging pain
A throat cracking from lack of air whenever the throbbing moans increase
A pulse seduced by a widening chest ready to embrace abundance
A memory rising against deception that only ends in collapse.
A woman-nightly-unable to sleep
Concealed by a cloud overwhelming the gifts of day
Attempting to sleep in spite of thunder.
Time is always opposing the heart
She was, alone conquering a fated death
Becoming the heir of pain struck with glorified sadness
Like a possessor, like her oppressively postponed life
A woman pledged to a body that is for her and against her.
This is how:
Whenever destruction crushed her blood cells she exaggerated the gifts of hands
Whenever pain repulsed the spear penetrating her body
Without delay she unreservedly embraced her life long friends
A woman who labored for a victorious death
4
Against a slowly broken scream
A frail heart-slowly-wasting pulse.
Alone whispering to darkness an unheard moan
Silent like a butterfly awed by the heat of light
Questioning death like a final dream:
Hey… do not delay
Be kind to a body melting by the vicious collection of its tranquil soul.
This is how she pleaded each morning to God’s sanctity
She prayed constantly
Kneeling with earnest eyes
Towards a rectangular rug and seeking forgiveness for the burdens of misery
Dissolving the tenderness of a pardoned life of iron…she cannot be blamed
Cleanse this body from moans even hell cannot endure
The fear of roaring eruptions, and defiant fevers…
Each artery, each muscle begs the hearts tenderness.
I want to sleep…
My soul has been conquered by her tender voice till the end of my shrouded years
Before I leave a bed distracted by a unbearable nerve
I ask her, stricken by a disloyal memory: What do you want tomorrow?
Obliged by a demolishing whisper…splinter by splinter
Whenever I remember the oppressively disheartened expanse that captivated her
: I want to sleep.
She secured the cradle’s fighting ground and the assassinating end from childhood
She feared nothing but an intimate death…a speedy departure
She pleaded: I want to sleep
Thus…God’s generosity seized her
He initiated angels commanded by revered thievery
Snatching the soul’s thorns from her bone cells
Relaxing a woman whose only strength was in dying
5
A butterfly relaxing her wings to a welcoming horizon
And repaired to a glorious death.
Oh to the generosity of difficult departure,
A night inspired by pouring rain and sweet thunder
Like a beautiful snow “Mawza” bestowed her limbs to the abundant sunset
Echoing like a princess hopeless of another awakening
Another memory unforgotten, a voice condemning and revering the question
Another tender descendants to receive the ember of absence
Another fusing tears that arouse the sympathy of grandchildren
Another shivering soul like hers surviving a short life.
She is finally at rest
She said her final farewell
A life unheeding of the fraudulent justice she never saw.
Ablution watered her grief stricken body as water bandaging her limbs
Enclosed to the tenderness of a coffin delighted by the pressure of an unstoppable memory
The end of departure
As she walked saluted by tears to the grave
Carried on a stretcher that family members struggled to touch
A woman drinking from the grace of forgetfulness yet not forgotten
A rose that defies bereavement bandages the branches’ fold
Shrouded by the smile of absence inheriting age
Towards a sufficiently merciful bed of sand
Embracing a body of excessive roses.
Till the finality of departure…
As the soul wills the approaching admirable fate:
Be Kind to the nine seeds that have yet to inherit the violence of the earth.
Although they covered the last dirt, they spread the moist clay
They sheltered an envious witness in the stone
6
Viewing the small rose bush occupying the moon’s façade
Who suffers the imprisonment of this earth
To a withering woman concealed in the glory of the coffin.
Lest they forget her…
She was
“Mawza”
A carefree angel asking the sky:
Where is heaven?
From the book, Hostage to Pain (Rahinat Al Alam) published in 2005 by The Arabic Institute of publication and Research.
Written by: Fawzeya Al-Sendi
Translated by: Mouna Schaheen