(melody of the old door)
Farhat musataha
transleted by Hassna.B.
2012
-1-
A poet and two birds
Words take me for away
Through the smoke of
Burning fire
I colored my face with
White just like fire
In my heart.
Two birds have abandoned
Their nest
Just two small birds
Like my poem; it never ends
Words slip through my fingers,
And on my cheeks; there are two kisser
Softer than the water of the noon.
In my child heart,
I still keep the odor
Of the prophet.
Two birds eat from my shade;
When words escape from me.
I get a child and contemplate
The beauty of the see.
Fes. 27/04/2001.
-2-
A journey through my sadness
Riding on the time
My horse is fire and aches
The wind is drawing
Forms with water
The corps of the earth
Is like henna drawing
On the hands of a virgin
To my shade, I’m rodding
To catch it
Fearing it my escape or fly away
From me.
H escape my head to the sun
Hoping to ocquire
what the old poet
had left
and I keep wolking
bare footed
cleaning away
what my feet had drawn
I will write a new dictionary
For words and action
I will pass it
To my next generation.
Bzou: ../09/2002.
-3-
Poetry and the sea
Poetry and the sea are twins
From nature they do come from.
Poetry dances on the rhythm
Of the waves,
When it feels tired,
It repeats its dancing
And de stars smiles for
The brightness of the day
The mouth of the sea
Relates to tongue of the waves,
devouring what remains
of the sun
the sound of the sea
play musically with
the running water.
It declares
The birth of poems
From the vagina of the eternal.
Al Mohammadia:
22/04/2001.
-4-
Dream and dust
There is nothing except
Bleu and yellow shades
Everything is blocked
Necks get longer for
They wait longer
Eyes are dried
Green has been broken
Necks reach the sky
Begging for water
Nothing except
bleu and yellow
everything is blocked
thunder is roaring
pleasure and fun have left.
Spring loses its face, just
Yellow and yellow shades
And dreams covered by
Dust and sadness.
Bzou: 1998.
-5-
dream
naked,
I discover the nakedness of the sea
I marry the male and the female
Of the sea birds,
From my poem.
I make a band of music
And from the gospels
I make the clothes of the bride
I’m waiting for Christmas
To celebrate the birth of the sea
And teach it haw to swim
On the edge of thirst.
-6-
The song of the sea
I see that the sea has two braids
Two cheeks…
And two eyes…
One is playing the guitar
The other is singing the sea song
Of robes for a new bride.
It leaves it’s shade
And all shades sink under it,
That’s the sea
Made from us and within us,
The secret of waiting
Never..
All the time it rests within us
It writes and cleans our story
We get up, with no face
To stare at,
This sea takes us far away
It furnishes from it’s body
A desire
And from roaring
A wave,
My arms from the sand
Are leaving
The wind-very cold,
Distorts us
The sea is my first image
The face of my ancestors
Who made me bear their
Injuries,
They were fire in my chest
And I immediately
Obeid their orders.
Al Mohammadia-Bzou: ../06/2006.
-7-
The fingers of my mother
I’m laying between two edges:
One of my father
The other of my mother.
Both of them
Have loved each other
On the door of history
Side by side,
They walked the road:
One is sweating
Sand and salt,
The other loves all seasons.
In the summer;
My mother gathered
The wheat of the fields,
She made feast.
In winter;
She saw seeds.
In spring;
She song for flowers
And squeezed the parfumes.
In autum;
When meadows lost their leaves
She wached
the wool and
the wool and wave clothes.
My mother had
the voice of the sea
she had a face
that made hand-kerchieves
very shy.
Bzou: 15/05/2001.
-8-
There is no secret in my garden
-1-
In my garden, there is a spring
Flowers and singing births
It takes me each night
To dream and fantasy.
In my garden; there is
An obdey, a minaret and some bells
All flogs and smiling;
Colors and sleeping stories.
My garden doesn’t care
It rain leaves her.
-2-
In my garden, there is a blue birds
Sitting near a blue spring
Were blue fish are swimming
When it gets hot,
It invites me
It teaches me how to dance
With the noon,
And changes autum
By spring colors
When my blue bird get satisfied.
Every thing stop speaking
They gathered my garden
For getting the world agonies
And heart suffering.
-3-
My garden is a refuge
For those wicked by time,
A redemption place for
Wreathed people
Sinned ones
They invoked vainly
Dust around them
Those without dreams
They fall in misery
They bent once they
Saw my garden,
My garden is the pilgrimage
For migring birds.
-4-
Wolves have an amusing story
With my garden
They climb and steal
Some of the nectars,
They keep calling
Until they fall dawn.
-5-
Cats came to my garden
In the afternoon or at night
Once they feel hungry
They stare at trees
Play with nightingales
-6-
Dogs smell the perfumes
They bark continuously
They rest in my garden
They look for food
And devore corpses
-7-
My garden remains
A field for wind and sea
A source for light and perfumes,
It is a symbol of life
It remains protected
By hearts and flowers.
Bzou: 15/05/2003.
-9-
The story of a legend
“people of Bzou”
-1-
In the past.
They say a bout it:
Is these the garden of e Eden
Or this is Bzou.
Every soul longs to it
And I say:
Bzou is the cheeks of a smallgirl
Flourishing within her age
On the edges of her hashes.
Green and colours of the spring
Through her cheecks.
Fields and poor drink
Fresh water.
They say about it:
The meadows of Bzou
Are more beautiful.
And I say:
It is a princess
With the voice of rural nightingale
The people of Bzou gathered
Around fire in time of coldness
Listening to the stories of
The grand-mother.
-2-
In the present.
It is Bzou, a princess
Drawn by history
A ship anchoring
In a deserted harbour
Water had left her earlier
It got forgotten.
It is very ill
Like an old man
Like a ghost
You smell only bad odour
Through it’s street.
It’s air is dry
It’s water is salty
It is very disgusting
To stare at the face of Bzou.
It stumbles in the djellabas
Of passing days.
The walls of the past
Tells their stories
And glorified days.
They tell about the disaster.
-3-
The future.
I see a sand Autumn
That steals the herbs
Of the green fields
Birds abandon their nests
On their shoulders,
They take trees and vegetation
The wind uncover the seeds
The birds no more sing
All is leaving
Girls have broken their jarres
They cry
And feel very sad.
-10-
The spectrum of “MASMOUDA”
The day is cold
The moon is dancing in the sky
Fogs are frosting
The king is in his tent snoring
Saad is leaving now
He can’t sleep, waiting to know
What is in the other side of the river.
Enemies are ready to conquer.
The horse of “Masmouda”
Is ready too
“Ouad El Abid” sing with no voice
Side by side
with the river of “Oum Rabiaa”
it cures the face of the sand
it evokes magnificient dreams.
Fez is praying for “Marrakech”
It brings dawn its flags
“Kurtuba” entertains Islam.
H hear all the voices
Their echoes came back
Horses have abandoned the place
She bears the identity of a country..
H see corps full with dust
A civilization is drawing back
All horses have died
Humanity have died*with as
Bzou: ../02/2001.
-11-
The return from
the sunset harvest
coming back from their harvest
after they had eaten dried
bread ant water.
Faces are in a tomb
Skins are burnt by hot sun
Eyes are withering
Souls get empty
teeths are decayed.
Caming back from the harvest
Riding frile donkey,
Listening to the voices
Of the weak crops.
Emptiness with another
Coming back from their harvest,
Dreaming of the rain.
Their hands hurted by axes
They wear all times
Sadness is the prevailing aspect
Walking in hot red sun
Lashed are crying for the eyes
The traces of the walking donkey
are not apparent
the feet of the rider
can’t be distinguished
from the sandal.
Coming back from their harvest
Dreaming of the rain.
Walking to house
Where there is only dust
And:
Very hungry dog get weaker
Children are crying
Women are chasing bees
From the corps
They fell hungry
There is no noon
No flower
Only frailty and fire.
Bzoo: 06/08/1999.
-12-
The village and the bird
My village has the colour of Aden
Running through the wall
Drawing forms of history
When I was sleeping
It tells me its story
It tells me about bird
Fogs and that a lonely
Bird lived within it’s parts
At night
It sing about it’s sad life.
My village tells me that the bird
Is chased by small children
They threw him by stones
When the morning has broken
The village woke up
after the rain
the river tells its story too
“it is accused of running
in cold weather
we usually make tombs
for our lives..
we observe how we sleep
haw we get poor day by day
you’re chased from our village.”
The bird had already left
he went alone far away
sad and despaired
he sang in his exile
the story ends
and de village has
no water, no milk..
and the tombs grow
instead of flowers.
Bzou:
../08/2002.
-13-
An ode to Oued El Abid
Wake up that river
You’re still proud of your self
Stand up
You’re our history and proud
Our eyes are hungry
Run your water
Give us some food
You make girls healthy
Your water is our fields
You give us milk and bread
You bring out what is hidden
In the soil
You make our feasts
You invite me
My heart is dying
Frosting like ice.
I walked to you,
Humiliated and despaired.
I rode my foist and last face
I melt in you my orpheline days
Waiting for another birth
Of my mother.
I need just a little of her milk
To give birth to flowers
And flies.
Some jay may came back
To my forgotten village
And you will be happy.
Bzoo: 2003.
The beauty of poetry
Poetry grants me emission
I deliver it on rocks
And they yield to foods
This is my blood
You have to drink it and
Not sell it
Put it in battles from pottery
Put it in your bodies
To be cleaned
For your sins
Their one my veins
Compose rimes and words
Memorize my poetry
To discover the truth.
Poetry make you live
Poetry make you die,
I swear, h heart the music of poetry
Walking with me
A long the road..
Ht embraces a noon
Coming from my heart,
Ht enlightens my way
H hear also the pains of poetry
Perhaps love will come.
The lamb repeat the music
Of that poetry
Whose mother wondered
Within the cattle.
He can’t neither eat the grass
Nor sucks the milk of it’s mother,
Poetry is like the fly
The river runs with poetry
It wears our dreams
It teach us
Love will be eternal.
Poetry embraces me like mother
It protect me from ugliness
Within us.
I will always remember you
I will not tend my hand
I’m a miserable
That’s the core of ugliness
Go to your shade
And hang it in the village
If forgetiness
You’re dying
Your days are few.
Teach me poetry
Your secret and your power
I know that the traveler
Never comes back
In my eyes’ there still be
A place for caring.
Bzou:
2003.
-14-
Waiting for confession
On the deserted street
There are cafes and cafes
And forgotten people
Living on chairs
In the morning and evening
Crying the past time
And suffering from illness,
The face is bargaining
And the heart is resisting
Reclaiming peace for our country
Whose water no more running
And trees are dying
The country was stolen
From the poor and granted to
Rich minority.
On the desert street
There are cafés and cafés
And forgotten people,
Living in the chairs
Waiting for nothing
They collect what ever
They find in there way.
They have no fields
No spring
Everything is lost,
People are tired of waiting
They look for real humanity
They look for real freedom,
They still wish
Peace for their country.
BZOU: ../02/1999.
-15-
The seduction of Travelling
Standing on the cost of tanger
I smell the odour of the sea
I have come from water and trees
From my houses
The time of my village
Had already stopped
The time of the west
Has just be born
In just few minutes
I will cross to another country..
When I came back
I will I’m the sun of generosity
I will cross to Europe
Be a rising sun;
The trees have withered
Without you, it will no prosper,
I cross “Tanger” to Europe
To coach is full of my sadness
I couldn’t sleep
I became dust.
With no day or night
My back got bent
My poverty is increasing
I cry and sing
A long my road.
I amuse my self by dreaming
We crossed “Tanger”.
We ride the boat of death
Waves push us up word
Country call as to come back
Nothing could fight hunger
Except bare bread and water
A strong wind is blowing
At the dept of the sea
All odours are mixed
Water and foam
We the sea from “Tanger”
Twenty dreams
The boat is sinking
The country is crying
Nothing could stop our dreams.
We fight and fight
Noting can seduce us in our country
Stretched on the coast of “Tanger”
I see a blue sky
A star is twinkling
The sea throws corps and dead.
Bzou: 1998.
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