The Flame Child - Poem by: Ibaa Ismail

~The Flame Child~
Poem by: Ibaa Ismail


Who would sing for a sparrow
nesting over the wound of the
palm trees?
Who would sing the assassinated
palm trees?
Who would deliver these olive branches
of their wounds
or stop their tears,
or hear their agonies under the
silent sky?
I don’t have the dreams, the
colors of roses;
For my flowers, my roses
do not dream anymore.
I don’t have the strings for
a dress…
In vain, my life bleeds under
the barren sky.
My body was cut to bread and
meat to feed the tattered, the
lost, the filth of some hyenas
who were named as men, the
guardians of evil.
* * *
I came to you
with glory and eagerness.
Yet, my heart is crying for years
over the nation of sadness.
I am your voice;
I am your sorrow;
I am what will remain
of the roots of your glare,
under the moaning of the stars.
* * *
From my blood, ascending
like the sun,
under the sting of an inferno.
I sing your pain.
Our parents out there waiting
for the roars of horses and
the earthquakes,
in the latitude of our captured voice?!


I came to you as a hopeless child,
killed without a prayer
and buried with the nation’s
April wheat spikes!..
How could my childhood’s soul
awaken to ignite some flames,
to spread its white peaceful wings,
over the endless sky?!
How could I ignite your consciences
with the tears of my blood?
How could I share with you,
the tears of flowers, of vanity, of sadness,
like a blossom
or an uproar?!
How can my spirit release its pollens
to raise in the horizon a song of anger
and peace?



Ibaa Ismail
Translated from my collection of poems “Songs of the Soul”




Here is the original poem in Arabic:


طفلة اللهب
شعر: إباء اسماعيل
ـ (إلى أطفال العراق) ـ‏
مَنْ يُغنّي لعْصفورةٍ،‏
فوقَ جرْحِ النخيلْ؟!....‏
مَنْ يُغنّي النخيلَ القتيلْ؟!....‏
ليس عندي زهورُ السماءْ‏
ليس عندي خيوطُ الرداءْ‏
عبثاً ينْزفُ العمْرُ أنوارهُ،‏
في العراءْ!...‏
جسدي صار خبْزاً ولحْماً،‏
لجوفِ الغريبِ....‏
وحرّاسهِ الأوْصياءْ!!...‏
*** ‏
جئتكمْ كالمدى والحنينْ....‏
إنَّ قلْبي على وطنِ الحزْنِ‏
يبْكي السّنينْ....‏
فادخلوا في دمي ورْدةً‏
واخرجوا من جذوري،‏
إلى قمّةِ الياسمينْ!...‏
*** ‏
منْ دمي المتصاعد شمْساً،‏
أُغنّي لكمْ ألمي،‏
تحت لسْعِ السّعيرْ....‏
يا سنا أهلنا،‏
مَنْ تُرى يطْلقُ الخيلَ‏
والزلْزلهْ،‏
في مدى صوتنا العربيِّ‏
الأسيرْ؟!...‏
*** ‏
طفلةً جئتكمْ‏
وكبرْتُ بلا أُمنيهْ‏
ودُفنْتُ مع الوطنِ السّنْبلهْ!...‏
كيفَ تصْحو طفولةُ روحي‏
لتشْعلَ بعضَ اللهبْ؟!...‏
كيف أُشْعلُ أعماركمْ بدمي‏
وأُقاسمكمْ ورْدةَ الدمْعِ‏
والحزْنِ‏
نوّارةً‏
أو شغبْ؟!...‏
كيفَ تطْلقُ روحي أزاهيرَها؟!...‏
كيف أرفعُ في الأفْقِ،‏
أُغنيةً منْ غضب؟!!...‏