The Tears of Fish by Suzan A’alyoowan

THE TEARS OF FISH BY SUZAN A’ALYOOWAN

TRANSLATED BY: H.I. AL-MUHAIRI

—-

He places his ear on the seashell of her heart
to listen
to the sea.
With closed eyes
he sees her,
a child drawing with her tears circles in the water of his soul,
asking,
“Do fish cry
like we do
in the depths
when they are lonely and sad?”

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That Luster by Suzan A’alyoowan

THAT LUSTER BY SUZAN A’ALYOOWAN

TRANSLATED BY: H.I. AL-MUHAIRI

—–

She’s grown old;
her voice no longer reaches them.
Who said that she sings for them?
It’s enough for her to have one listener:
in the night’s hollow hall,
a moon with a few teeth
is reclining on his violin.
He sneezes severely
between a song and another,
shooting her stars on her dress and hair,
returning back to her that luster.

The Snowman by Suzan A’alyoowan

THE SNOWMAN BY SUZAN A’ALYOOWAN

TRANSLATED BY: H.I. AL-MUHAIRI

————

With their small hands,
they made him a body and a head.
With stiff pieces of wood,
they gave him their faces
and the scent of skin
in coats and shoes.
They gave him a smile and a pipe,
the smoke of which
is a warm, shivering breath.
They must have passed unseen by the adults
and snatched this fine hat for him,
and this scarf.
In the night,
they will leave him.
It is not possible for children in such colors
to sleep in this frosty white.
Children like them
wish to keep a distance,
in which the pain of loss falls,
when the sun rises
and he leaves them
forever.

The Cafe’s Bird by Suzan A’alyoowan

THE CAFE’S BIRD BY SUZAN A’ALYOOWAN

TRANSLATED BY: H.I. AL-MUHAIRI

————-

Your place in the cafe
is not empty.
After you left,
a bird came
and sat in your corner.
I contemplate him
from afar,
just as I used to contemplate you,
as he is smoking his cigarette
and wandering with his lost eyes
in the smoke.