One distant evening

while I smuggle a fountain through the wreckage

or bribe a night with a mediocre poem

You bleed

in the cold trenches of the ceasefire

from your thousand battlefronts

I wanted to lay out a path with a carpet of my breaths

to where you still stand

Your barricade a dove’s skeleton

Your face a wounded paradise

I wanted to burn a little between your hands

No place dreams of my arrival

and Life

My frightened fugitive:

When it opens its eyes

every moment gets ready to be born

in its cradle floating between my bones

I wake upon foreign seas

and my life braces itself against me

– Sargon Boulus. excerpt from An Attempt to Reach Beirut by Sea

translated by Suneela Mubayi

_

Advertisements