He is Blue and you are Blue

Adeeb Kamal Ad-Deen

You resemble the sea in everything.
He is blue
And you are blue.
He is naive, stupid
And you are naive more than often.
He is the owner of the meanings that begin in the bed
And end with death.
And you are the owner of the bed.
There your meaning begins to appear
To end up drowning and dying.

The sea resembles your body that is full of fire torches.
He has breasts of the desire rising and falling.
You have breasts of fever rising forever.
He has legs of the dream,
You have legs of earthquakes.
Their torture begins with kisses that rise
Right and left
To end near the door of the myth
As the mass murder of hundreds fleeing
From the battle.

In mentioning the murder and earthquakes
The sea pushes his heavy objects up
From time to time
To slay his fans and his lovers.
And you push your heavy objects up
Every day and every night
To slay your unfaithful lover,
Not by the horror of earthquakes
But by a knife that sinks in rust and mud.

How beautiful you are!
You have ruined my party since my boyhood,
You ruined my poem from its beginning,
You ruined my breaths
By your breaths that are full of desire.
Then I have no choice
Only to undress in front of you full of dilemma.
You undress in front of me
Full of intrigues and secrets,
Full of your legs, belly and moons,
Full of your fire, rains, songs and tears,
Full of your summer and spring,
Full of your brave surrender,
And full with my blind loss at the end.

You resemble the sea.
No doubt about it!
But what kind of meaning disappears behind this truth?
I got lost between your hands forty centuries ago
As a damned child,
As an angel that got leprosy fever,
As an old exiled man in the ends of the world,
As a poet complaining of the desolation of the sun,
As a sun fluctuates in a narrow sky,
As a sky plays under the throne of gold,
As gold is fought for by the bastard and the king,
As a king who does not care about the cries of his
People surrounding his palace,
Holding torches and knives every night.

You resemble the sea.
No doubt about it!
But what kind of meaning disappears behind that sea?
Behind that wonderful blueness which starts
So as not to end
Or to end so that it starts again,
Behind those lost ships and the sailors who dance or weep
On their sailing ships forever?
Behind those cities that wait for them to forget them forever?
Behind that whiteness, I do not understand?
Behind that blackness, I do not accept?
Behind that rising downing redness?
Behind your memory that words and letters are unable to describe?
Behind your living dying memory?
Behind your holy memory?

You resemble the sea.
How changeable the sea is!
Your body is lying.
I am groping with my fingers your burning sun
Going down in panic to the door of the myth.
How much I dreamed of the door of the myth,
O lost-forever female!
O lying -forever near my body female!
How much I dreamed of the door of the myth
And the sun of the myth.
Thus, as one who gives up to his fate
That resembles a circus of clowns,
I left my fingers near that door
Groping my childhood, my youth and my old age,
Groping my letters and dots,
Groping your naked belly.
How much I dreamed about that fluctuate sun
As a wave of the sea generated from the right to left,
From birds to the cloud,
From the blue color to the yellow color,
From standing to jogging,
From refusal to surrender,
From fire to snow.
There is no snow, ever.
There is a fire that shifts with me,
Shifts as the curse of leprosy in the flesh,
Shifts as the curse of poverty with the poor,
Shifts as the rumor passes between the mouths of elderly women,
Shifts as the letters move from word to word,
From poem to poem,
And from death to death.


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