Here We Are
Fatena al Shubaki
And we love life if we
find a way thereto. We
deceive the distant hope
and fudge it so that the
grapes of joy do not dry
on our lips. With what is
left of our fingers, we
grab what is left of our
sand and our water. We
rub the face of our
bread that is pasted
with the salt oozing
from the tears of
a mother kneading the
sun inside the oven of
her heart. So that a god
wakes up from his
slumber, we also love
live if we find a way
thereto. We have
postponed dates,
gardens of patience,
swings of love, love
letters, pregnant ports
with flames, boats, and
tales that traverse
colors from our days as
the tyrants do. And the
stones are ours, and the
road paved by our skins.
We have the old songs
and the scent of sage,
‘Atāba and Miejanā,
dancing with our
dreams, humming with
the lips of those who
died before their time.
And with the agony of
‘Aah,’ We have what is
endless; a fresh wound,
a calm morning and a
sycamore that gives the
afternoon a shadow of
delicious passion, the
astonishment of the
trice when the smart
carter of death misses
us, and we yell in the ear
of the long round of
hide-and-seek: we still
here.
find a way thereto. We
deceive the distant hope
and fudge it so that the
grapes of joy do not dry
on our lips. With what is
left of our fingers, we
grab what is left of our
sand and our water. We
rub the face of our
bread that is pasted
with the salt oozing
from the tears of
a mother kneading the
sun inside the oven of
her heart. So that a god
wakes up from his
slumber, we also love
live if we find a way
thereto. We have
postponed dates,
gardens of patience,
swings of love, love
letters, pregnant ports
with flames, boats, and
tales that traverse
colors from our days as
the tyrants do. And the
stones are ours, and the
road paved by our skins.
We have the old songs
and the scent of sage,
‘Atāba and Miejanā,
dancing with our
dreams, humming with
the lips of those who
died before their time.
And with the agony of
‘Aah,’ We have what is
endless; a fresh wound,
a calm morning and a
sycamore that gives the
afternoon a shadow of
delicious passion, the
astonishment of the
trice when the smart
carter of death misses
us, and we yell in the ear
of the long round of
hide-and-seek: we still
here.
Dr Fatena al Shubaki is a Palestinian refugee in northern Iraq. She is Assistant Professor at the University of Mosul, College of Arts, Department of Arabic Language. She has a PhD in Modern Criticism from Baghdad University, and a master’s degree in Arabic literature from the University of Kufa. For 21 years she has taught literature and modern criticism at the University of Kofa and the University of Mosul.
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