Three poems by Moaen Shalabia
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10 August 2018
Author :  

Moaen shalabia; Born on 14 October 1958 in Maghar Village -The Galilee. One of the Arab Palestinian national Minority – Israel. Finished his studies in Haifa University – (Business Administration and management.  Poet and prose writer, his writing career began in 1973, he published his poems in national local newspapers and in Arabic papers abroad. His first-born was the first book of poetry in 1989.

He was awarded by the Palestinian education ministry for his blessed efforts in enriching the national education and for his loyalty to the Palestinian issue and the Principles of justice and freedom. He was awarded by the "Arab intellectual's forum" – Jerusalem Alquds). Besides, he has received many appreciation certificates a member in the union of Arab writers and the movement of world poets (Poetas del mundo) and Member of Mahmoud Darwish Foundation for Creativity. His literary production was discussed and criticized in universities and in many sessions in homeland and abroad. Some of his poems were translated into many languages, like French, Turkish, English, Romanian, Polish, Macedonian, Bahasa Malaysia,  Italian, Hebrew, Bosnian, and Albanian language. His collection of poems was included in the national and international anthologies. He recently won the prize of the Arab Writers Union and of the year 2018 for poetry.

 

 

The departure of the spirit

 

I saw you painting the dream

between the fire and the night,

And moons above the night,

And grief behind the spirit,

And the color of grief likes the twilight.

 

I saw you carrying the sea in your eyes expatriate,

And plates of faith and disbelief,

I asked the sea if it know its carrier,

The sea replies waves of tiredness.

 

I saw you silent dumping the grief in your lips,

You don’t ask now about my drown?

You said: "yes",

Why the river doesn't flow as we like,

We don’t want to pass the love like leafs.

 

I saw you hugging the thorn,

And the thorn is wounding,

Then I said: enough

The thorn's wounds in the worriedly.

 

I saw you behind my grief and in it,

Can you stand the grief in journeys?

I'm tiered of grief, I don’t know

Whether the spirit departure until neck

Erase the grief.

 

 

Night and wine and woman

 

 My wooden home

has two windows opened to their limits

and shadow of a woman inflaming the distance

I look upon the sea on the wake of the evening

and upon a glass of wine

stirring the echoes.

 

My wooden home has the smell of dew

and the shape of a soul in the palm of a blur

in our wooden home there is an aged jar

and a thirsty butterfly haunting me

into the futility of speech.

 

It is you..

and for a while I've been looking in you for my death

here you are, and this taste is monstrous

exploding in me a volcano

and inflaming in me my sails.

 

Here you are

and in your eyes a storm of drunkenness

oh you hug and burn and fill and spill me

wine over my crematorium

so don't ever change and be oh a woman

destroying all my kingdom

and embrace me as a bottle

that danced on the belt of a storm

thus the flame of its wine burns me into poetry

for an ultimate heat and a Palestinian glass

cover all my questions...!!

 

 

Wave is return

 

Why I should forgive, friends?

Does any one of you carry the morning baggage?

Does there any one who read the catastrophe in my grief,

And participate in the death of the night the suffer of the darkness,

And tearing an artery in my times entrails.

There was a flower which growing in my heart

There was a tulip which growing in my soul

My life has gone… I wish it does not.

 

A child was growing in my heart,

She was fidgeting in the womb of sorrow… suffering

A female was in my soul

Painting the wings of the sun and the remains of a smile

But arrows of those who I love

Were shut, in morning, to my soul and… it hit the target!

 

What I should do, friends?

Does there any one of you carry the worries of our nation?

Does there any one of you read the books of sea,

And sip the remains of coal from the bottom of the cup?

The child says:

What I should do in order to turn me pregnant !?

 

What do I write, strangers?

Does there any one of you understand what I may write?

I, might, write all your sins

And hug, at noon, my torments

Revolution,

Revolution,

Revolution...

 

What I should do, lovers?

Does any one of you know the taste of

A salty wound on the breasts of the kiss?

 

Does any one of you know how the love will be

On the bridge of return?

 

Does any one of you know

how the soul go On the flank of the tent?

 

Does any one of you know

How the heart be hungry and how the passion suicide…?!

 

What I should do, my beloves?

It is mirage.. mirage

 

Continue your watery dreams

Continue the wife's dream

Cause tomorrow you will hug these wave

 

Wave is return,

Wave is return,

Wave is return.

 

 

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