Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Drunken Memory

By Ghada Al Samman

Why
Is it that when I am drunk on an airplane
The clouds form a map of Syria
One cloud after the other?
***
During Parisian exile events, I cut the ceremonial ribbons of rain
At Maxime Restaurant with a scythe from our old Shami village.
If I were a woman of chocolate,
I would’ve melted under the suns of Singapore and Manila.
If I were a woman of salt,
I would’ve dissolved in the sea waters between Lisbon and Barcelona.
But I am a Sinbad who circled the earth in search of her lover,
While he had been lying deep inside her all along , and his name is her Country
***
He was cruel and violent.
I felt his palm like an ice block when he took my hand
But I have loved him and followed him to the end of the world
While snow fell off his eyes over me…
And his lips blew winds of the Alps when he whispered my name,
His name was: Exile
I do not regret that wretched love,
For the so-called “exile” taught me better than any other teacher how
To write the name of my country with stars on a board made of night.
---------------------------------
(My translation from Arabic version)

Painting by Lord Frederick Leighton