Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gihan Omar

When I go alone

The guard of awareness,
that gelatinous creature that leans solidly
on its stick,
holding back the past’s chaotic overflowing
into the present,
the guard that neatly arranges disappointments
into sealed boxes
and ever so gently dries out the dead:
It never leaves the door open,
except for when I finally go out alone.
After many years, it seems,
when weariness overcomes me,
I allow him to enter these dark places
by the light of a timeworn candle:
I sit with my hand on my head
and sob hysterically,
for though I’m still young
the guard’s an old man now –
he could die at any moment
and leave the door open.
Who knows what fate
lies in wait for me?

Als ik alleen ga

Bewaker van het geheugen
onaantastbaar wezen dat leunt op een stok
om stevig te staan
het verleden afhoudt van een onverhoedse aanval op nu
misslagen opslaat in hermetisch gesloten kisten
en de lijken overdreven zacht droogt
Hij laat geen deur open
behalve als ik
alleen ga, na jaren misschien
en hem vraag mij binnen te laten
in de donkere ruimten met het licht van een kaarsstomp
Als ik moe word
leg ik een hand op mijn hoofd
en begin hysterisch te huilen
De bewaker is oud en ik ben nog jong
hij kan zo maar dood gaan en deuren open laten
Wat staat me te wachten?

حين أذهب بفردي

حارس الوعي
هذا الكائن الهلامي..الذي يتكئ بعصاه
في ثبات
مانعا الماضي من تدفقه العشوائي على الآن..
الحارس الذي يرتب الخيبات
في صناديق محكمة الغلق
ويجفف الأموات برفق مبالغ فيه..
ولا يترك الباب مفتوحا أبدا
الا حين أذهب بفردي
بعد سنوات في أغلب الظن
أستأذنه بالدخول
على ضوء شمعة متآكلة لهذه الأماكن المعتمة
حين ينال مني التعب
أجلس ويدي فوق رأسي
أبكي بنشيج هيستيري
فالحارس صار كهلا وأنا مازلت شابة
ربما يموت في أي وقت ويترك البوابات مفتوحة..
أي مصير ينتظرني..
Close

When I go alone

The guard of awareness,
that gelatinous creature that leans solidly
on its stick,
holding back the past’s chaotic overflowing
into the present,
the guard that neatly arranges disappointments
into sealed boxes
and ever so gently dries out the dead:
It never leaves the door open,
except for when I finally go out alone.
After many years, it seems,
when weariness overcomes me,
I allow him to enter these dark places
by the light of a timeworn candle:
I sit with my hand on my head
and sob hysterically,
for though I’m still young
the guard’s an old man now –
he could die at any moment
and leave the door open.
Who knows what fate
lies in wait for me?

When I go alone

The guard of awareness,
that gelatinous creature that leans solidly
on its stick,
holding back the past’s chaotic overflowing
into the present,
the guard that neatly arranges disappointments
into sealed boxes
and ever so gently dries out the dead:
It never leaves the door open,
except for when I finally go out alone.
After many years, it seems,
when weariness overcomes me,
I allow him to enter these dark places
by the light of a timeworn candle:
I sit with my hand on my head
and sob hysterically,
for though I’m still young
the guard’s an old man now –
he could die at any moment
and leave the door open.
Who knows what fate
lies in wait for me?
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère