Shahrayar and Scheherazade, after 2000 nights

شهريار:

شهرزاد،

إسقني شهد الرحيق بلا نهاية

قصصا كتبت من محال 

قد نسيت أن للدم في الفجر إحتفال

أنشد فيه سعادة فانية

كيف أضحت سعادتي من خيال؟

  كيف صرت  خليلة الروح ؟

كيف صرت معنى لسؤال

لا معنى له

إلا في قلب ذلك  الذي لا يحيا

سوى بين جلدتي كتاب؟

والقلم لا يعرف إلا  السراب

شهرزاد ،

كيف بقيت في ثنايا الروح خافية؟

وهل أنت إلا جسد جميل ؟

أم أنت قلب كبير؟

أأنت تلك العيون الصافية ؟

أو انت عقلٌ وتدبير؟

أريد أن أعرف الحقيقة

أهي شهرزاد أم إيزيس؟

تلك التي وجدت منذ الأزل

منذ  قبل فجر الخليقة؟

شهرزاد:

مالك يا شهريار

حالك حال الغريب

أنسيت أني سر من الأسرار

في وجهي بشرى ليل السمر

وفي عيني عتمة ليلٍ خطر

وجسدي جواب الغد البعيد

" على مستحيلٍ من الأمس القريب؟

شهرايار :

شهرزاد...

ألفا ليلة مرت ولم أدرك معنى الخطاب

أأنت حقيقة؟ أم أكذوبة من فجر الخليقة

أأنت بشر؟

أم إبنة الطبيعة

وجدت لتحبس روحي في مخدعها

فأنسى فضاءً بلا حدود

وفي عينين عسليتين

ينحبس معنى الوجود

من انت؟ من أنت؟

أكل شيء؟ أم لا شيء؟

إن لم تضئ روحك عن الجواب

فلي في الفضاء من سراب

وفي الصحاري من رمال

وفي  الشجر من ظلال

ما يغنيني عن تلك القيود

"وما ينسيني ألم السؤال

شهرزاد:

إذهب بعيدا يا طفلا

وجرب النسيان

ففي رمال الصحراء

في نجوم السماء 

وفي دعاء الكروان

سأكون لك رؤيا

فتعود لي رجلا

فأنا كل ما كان

كل ما يكون

قناعي لم يكشفه بعد إنسان

فلو قدر لك أيها الشقي

بقبسات روحي علما

استقوى على عشرتي

 "يوما؟ -

المشهد الثالث : كراج البيت (Original scene  : Capulet Orchard )

جولييت : وبعدهالك يا سي روميو ؟ إنت ما تعلمت ؟ إمبارح أمي رمياك بشبشب زحافي بتاع نص جنيه. لو إبن عمي تيبالت شاف سيارتك حيقطعلك العجل، على الأقل، وغالباً رقابتك بدل العجل

روميو : جولييت ، يخدوني ، يضربوني ، طالما حتكوني آخر حاجة بشوفها حكون سعيد . وطالما حتحزني علي طول الحياة، حأموت قرير العين

جولييت : قرير العين ؟

روميو : آه

جولييت : طبعاً يا سي روميو لازم تفهم إنو مش ممكن الحداد عليك بدون رباط شرعي.

روميو : رباط شرعي ؟ هو الحب بيعترف برباط شرعي ؟

جولييت : امال إيه آخرة الحب ؟ الموت ؟

روميو : جولييت ، أنا عاوزك توعديني إن مات واحد منا الثاني عمرو ما يفكر بحد ثاني

جولييت : طبعا أنا متمنالكش الموت يا سي روميو ، بس أنا أبقى بنت عصري، عندي أحلامي وطموحاتي

روميو : يعني ممكن إن مت تتجوزي حد تاني ؟ ممنوع يا جولييت إن مت تتجوزي حد تاني

جولييت : نعم يا خويا ؟ ليه ؟ هم قالولك عني وحشة مش حلاقي حد  ؟ ما عنديش سكس أبيل ؟ ده أنا أعجب سيدك وسيد سيدك يا ناقص يا نكرة 

روميو : رجعنا للقباحة ؟ على العموم أنا مسامحك

جولييت : مش جولييت بنت عوض إلي تطلب سماح من إبن الفسخاني

روميو : رجعنا للفسيخ ؟

جولييت : خلاص ، ما تيجي ننسى قصة الموت والقيود والعقود ... أبوي وأمي بره البيت ، ما تيجي تاخدني تفسحني بالعربية

روميو : جولييت أنا عاوز أخدك أفسحك بعيد في الفضاء ، هناك فوق سطح القمر

جولييت ؛ بس  هناك فوق سطح القمر  ما فيش  لا حياة ولا سهر

روميو : طبعا ولا مسارح ولا سمر

جولييت : ولا نسيم ولا اوكسيجين

روميو : في أنا وإنت

جولييت : امال حنتنفس منين

روميو (يفقد أعصابه أخيراً): هو إنت له عاوزة تتنفسي ، ما تتكتمي أحسن وتخرسي

جولييت : أنا إلي اخرس يا بجم ؟ ما تخرس إنت وتتكتم أما صحيح نا إلي اخرس يا بجم ؟ أما صحيح قلة أدب وطول لسان له العجب ... انت إيه فاكر انك مهندس ودماغك يهد الفلك ، بكرا مصيرك تصير بياع سمك .

(تصمت لحظة )

والدي كمان شويه ويكون هنا ، إهرب إهرب يا سي روميو

روميو : (يفكر لحظة ثم يدخل سيرته ويولي هارباً ) حد يفهمني أتوبيس الحياة بتاعنا واحد ولا حصل غلط وأوتوبسنا مش واحد؟

Troubadour song (Peire Vidal in Langue d'Oc)

Without sin I asked for  penance 
To be forgiven, without causing harm 
From nothing I drew a tender gift
And from bitterness, a gentle charm

From anger I recovered good will
And found perfect joy amidst the tears
I am emboldened by my fears
I am a victor in my defeat 
A conqueror, even in retreat

I bring comfort to  lovers in despair

My  labor is a heavenly motion

I pull  clouds of snow and ice  from fire

And Fresh water from the deep ocean

Never did I another soul a wrong  
And so in good faith I shall aspire

That  lament shall  turn triumphal song

For good ever starts from gentle desire

--
Ses peccat pris penedensa 
E ses tort fait quis perdo, 
E trais de nien gen do 
Et aid'ira benvolensa

E gaug entier de plorar 
E d'amar doussa sabor, 
E sui arditz per paor 
E sai perden gazanhar 
E, quan sui vencutz, sobrar

E poiran s’en conortar

En mi tuit l’autr Amador

Qu’ab sobresforsiu labor

Trac de neu freida foc clar

Et aigua doussa de mar

Ni quar anc no fis falhensa

Sui en bona sospeisso

Quel maltraitz me torn en pro,

Pos lo bes tan gen comensa

24 April 1915-2015

24 April 1915-2015

Tomorrow morning’s late...
did they forget to dream...
When last they closed their eye?
Could they tell their fate?
the line from truth to lie
is a desert in which to die

Did their eyes look high
At an unrepentant Sky?
Did the last beat of their heart
believe in Annunciation?
or the kindness of a god
that forgets its own creation?

Tomorrow morning’s late
their fate became a rhyme
memory to the human race
born of its worst disgrace
from its cruelest belief
from the wounds of crime
from the womb of grief:

it is the theft of time…

In the temple of Vesta

In the temple of Vesta (Iambic free-form)

What am I but a dancer in the dark?
I live for mortals in the light of day
When hopeless prayers mingle with my soul
Asking it an impossible question
Of love’s labors and of the will to pray
Looking to answer fate’s eternal song
About that constant child of chance
My miracle is to heal the lovers' fears
To give hope to every human heart
When my own is forever denied the human tears.

Why won't a lover come to me?
Why would he fear a heart
Forever betrothed to an altar of fire?
I want to see beyond the columns of this temple
I need to feel my ambitions
my ignorance, my sins and my desire
I need to hear the footsteps of the great city
and no longer to hear the footsteps of a lustful god,
or my own
Come, lover, whisper in my ears
The secrets that come to life at dawn

but I see the moonlight gently feeling its way
My night belongs to this moon
Flowing through the columns of Vesta’s temple
The moon is kind to show that my hair
Still flows like the golden harvest of May
Reminding me that only twenty are my years

Tonight, there is no place for chance
This moon was kind to offer me a dance

Praying on Ishtar's gate

Praying on Ishtar’s Gate, Inanna’s song

 (Variation on the Anapestic Tetrameter, Da-dom da-dom dom-da- da-dom )

Praying on Ishtar’s Gate

This  is a song  we can’t  sing twice

Ishtar! Shall I roll the dice?

Is love as divine as the Sky?

Or is nature herself a lie?

For no other god I shall pray

You  alone shall guide my way

Your fire is the eternal song

It may dim,  but is never wrong

She can heal the earthly  fears

With a drop of divine tears:

Fate is  the one who shall learn

To play by our rules this turn

This night , there’s no place for chance

The stars above will  light our dance

The power of time will  be gone

When the moon shall hold the sun

This  is a song  we can’t  sing twice

Goddess! Shall I roll the dice?

Is love as divine as the Sky?

Or is  nature herself a lie?

In the temple of Vesta/The dancer in the dark

What am I but a dancer in the dark
An  existence only meant to serve
I live for mortals in the light of day
When hopeless prayers mingle with my soul
Asking it an impossible question
Of love’s labours and of the will to pray
Looking to answer fate’s eternal  song
About that  constant child of chance
My miracle is to heal the lover’s fears
To tell him: “Never submit to fate
and  believe that your  dreams
Are beyond your  reality
Never believe that your dreams
Shall not fit in your  tomorrow!”
My miracle is to give hope to every human heart
When my own is forever denied the human tears.

But my  night belongs  to  the  moon
Flowing through  the columns of Vesta’s temple
The moon is kind to show that my hair
Still flows  like  the golden harvest of May
Reminding  me that only twenty are my years

Tonight, there is no place for despair
The moon was kind to offer me a dance

Shahryar, on the two thousandth night

"What troubles your soul, Shahryar,

A stranger you seem to me

Am I not the secret of secrets?

In my  face the joy of darkness gone by

In my gaze the mystery of a dangerous night

and my beauty, future’s distant answer

to an impossible from yesterday’s sigh ?"



“Scheherazade,

Two thousand nights have passed

And still your words are Unknown

Are you a form of reality,

Or a lie from the dawn of time ?

Are you of the human race,

Or the daughter of nature herself ?

Born to imprison my soul in her chambers,

That I may forget my limitless space

And her hazlenut eyes

Confine the meaning of existence

Who are you ? What are you ?

If your soul cannot lift the mystery

Then I shall find in the sands of deserts

In the illusions of the skies

In the shades of never-ending forests,

That which shall free me from the chain

Of a question that brings nothing but pain”



“Run away, child

to taste the fruits of forgetfulness

yet in the what the desert offers of sands,

what the trees offer of shade

what the skies offer of stars

what the birds offer in prayers

You shall find of me a vision

And you shall return, a man:

I am all that was

All that is

All that shall be,

No mortal man has me yet unveiled

For if fate ever shows,

your anxious soul

A glimpse of my own,

Would you bear my existence

Beyond the light of one  dawn?"






By Comte Almaviva

يا زهرة الأمل

يا زهرة الأمل في الحياة                        

                         لا تبك فدمعك دمع السماء

يا قبلةً علت على ظلم البشر                     

                           للبشر في بقائك البقاء

يا نار مضيئة   منذ الأزل                    

                         في ذكرك معنى الحب والدعاء  

يا روح العلم علمي الإنسان                  

                          ما لم يعلم من روح الرجاء

فهو ذكر أن الموت بحق                      

                       ونسى أن ما القتل بقضاء

يا زهرة الأمل في الحياة                      

لا تبك، فدمعك دمع السماء


By Comte Almaviva

Carmen, love is a bohemian child

When will I love you?
My word! I don’t have a clue
Perhaps never…
Perhaps tomorrow
But now is not the time
That is certain


Love is a rebellious bird
That nothing-no one
Ever could tame
And it’s in vain
That we call for it
If it suits it to refuse
Nothing will do
Threats or prayer
One speaks well,
The other is mute
And it is the other I prefer
He says naught
Yet he pleases me most!


Love is a bohemian child
That never knows any rule or law
If you love me not
I’ll love you
And if I love you…
stay alert! Watch out!



That bird you thought
You could surprise
Flutters its wings
And flies away
Love is far – you can wait
The wait is over – here it is!
All around you
Hurry! Hurry!
It comes
It goes
And it comes back
When You think you caught it
It escapes
But try to escape
And it catches you


Love is a bohemian child
That never knows any rule or law
If you love me not
I’ll love you
And if I love you…
stay alert! Watch out!



translated by Comte Almaviva

كتبت من الخيال

كتبت من الخيال

قبل الإحتفال

فصارت خليلة الروح

وصارت معنى لسؤال

لا معنى له

إلا في قلب ذلك  الذي لا يحيا

سوى بين جلدتي كتاب

والقلم لا يعرف إلا  السراب

من هي؟

ذات العيون الصافية

والصوت العذب كطير الجنان ؟

أهي شهرزاد أم إيزيس؟

تلك التي وجدت منذ الأزل

منذ قبل ما قبل فجر الخليقة

فبقيت في ثنايا الروح خافية

إلى أن أخرجها إلى النور وحي قلمك

 فصرت تراها  في عيني كل إمرأة

فتغدو في  كل إمرأة صفة الكمال

إلى أن تدرك أن لها حقيقة

غير  التي في مرآة نفسك

فتلك صنيعة الأحلام

أما هذي فتخاطب فيك الإنسان

وقدر الكاتب قدران

له نصف  قلبٌ كقلوب البشر

ينشد تلك السعادة الفانية

وله نصف  قلبٌ يتقن فن الهروب

ولا يهرب إلا في  دروب الأوهام

وما كان للقلم أن يحيا

دون أن تتصارع في الروح

تلك الأمواج العاتية!

Pygmalion and Galatea, a lyrical poem (all 5 scenes)

Scene 1: Pygmalion, in the middle of the night, reaches the altar of Venus in her temple, and throws himself in front of her statue

Pygmalion :


Tonight I pray to thee Venus

Forgive this sorrowful heart

Who knew no one but Appolo

The giver of reason and of Art

And  of ambitions ever unbound

who  set my spirit on fire

to rise above this finite land

to seek over Mount Olympus

what is beyond the Genius

of both man and immortal god.

And I  set within the marble stone

The music of Appolo’s  lyre

day after day, with this mortal hand

I soared above what  gods aspire

Galatea, the name I carved in words

Unadorned she was, unequal was pure gold

She was my victory, over all you gods

For no god ever made perfect man

Yet that night, perfection was mine to hold !

But where Genius rose ever higher

The void left was filled with desire,

One lonely night not before too long

I sang to her, she offer’d back no song

And where whisper’d tales with tears I told

Her eyes were idle, her palms were cold

Tonight I pray to thee Venus !

Take back all the Genius of my soul

Take back Appolo’s poisoned chalice

Of gods, I no longer wish the role

Breath in her the gift of love and life

That I may find by her, warmth in night

That I  may know how mortal fates unite

Make imperfect this - my perfection

Take  Galatea, my miracle of creation

Give me Galatea the human, the wife !



Scene 2 : Dialogue of Venus and Appolo, in front of a magic fountain showing both Venus’s temple and Galatea in Pygmalion’s cottage



Venus


Witness my victory god of Art

god of Genius, music and Mind

Your proudest creation has a heart

His vows to Appolo, this night unsigned

How unwise, brother, to think a man

May rise to take the role of  god

When we spelled the frailties of mankind

Between heart and reason their choice was made:

Without reason, man may live his life

Yet not a day – by Cupid- from love apart

Appolo :

Our powers are vast but minds finite

While  limitless is man’s imagination

gods create the man, who works the night

to rise above us in his own creation

Galatea her name –lifeless she stands

Yet holds  Pygmalion’s genius and soul

He did not pray Venus, yet still knew love

For Is Galatea the work of  just the hands,

When each night watered with the artist’s tears?

I ask you sister, not to hear his cries

For if you breath into her a mortal life

Happiness he may know, but for a day

If tonight he calls her his love, his wife

Tomorrow she’ll be  a Memory of

your crime against labour and  perfection

Begrudge him not  the sorrows of his heart

Such is his fate to seek his happiness

In making the immortal, from a mortal mind

Do not destroy the miracle of his Art

In the name of the  lonely winter’s tears


For if Galatea is the artist’s lasting miracle,

we the gods made the human’s fears

Venus :

I do not live to do favours for man

Be he a genius or a petty thief

But  prayers of love I cannot deny

should they bring joy, misery or grief

You see in  Galatea your victory

When the artist rose over Olympus high?

Yet Pygmalion shall be my triumph

In her love he’ll find eternal belief !

(She raises her hands)

Cupid ! Prepare your quiver for the game

Tonight thine arrows shall cover the sky !


Scene 3  Galatea, kneeling by the sleeping  Pygmalion in their cottage


Galatea

What is the secret of existence

But a divine gift that was twice received ?

Once, the genius of Art gave instance

Thence, from gods’ breath the  spirit conceived ?

Pygmalion, husband, creator,  friend, and  love

Is it a glimpse of sorrow on your face ?

My life span is a  year, spent by your side

Wherein you showered me with kisses each dawn

Yet tonight, of your  love, I see no trace

 Tonight, I see the veil  that masks a fear

but I shall ask  not for the truth unveiled

Let not the eyes search for false happiness

That was not meant for a human to find

Swear an eternal love  as you did the day

you forewent Reason in the will to pray

When with a breath of Venus I came to life

Know that if Galatea once was the work of the mind

None  but the name  remains in your wife

Ageless  stone may tell of miracles, but will not love

Yet our mortal hearts are forever entwined




Scene 4: Pygmalion, walking alone under a moonlit night



Pygmalion:

One night  I thought my genius rose

Above the fates of gods and their creation

For once the spirit denied the mortal laws

No god deterred a limitless    imagination

Galatea was the child of my mind

Years I worked in the stillness of the night

When  man and beast close their idle eyes

And lived without both man’s truth and lies

While I labored for an image of perfection

She was both companion to the mind and heart

With  with the spirit content, with the labor done

I declared that over you gods I’d won

For there she stood, of my victory the annunciation

Yet when minds grow weary, the heart takes the stage

Hitherto freedom was a limitless quest

Yet now it was a human desire

I denied Appolo, and cursed my fate:

That while my spirit may roam far above

I shall be creator of beauty, yet know not love

And with a heart full of sorrow and of rage

I prayed Venus, to make human out of divine

An earthly love out of a perfect design

Thence for a year I saw happiness in Galatea

And embraced the bars of this blissful cage

But while Galatea received the gift of life

She no longer was the creature of my dream

Day after day, my gift to her the more withdrawn

conquered by a  god’s curse: that she may know time

She could not show love when of marble stone

Yet she was my gift to a never-ending future

That ever lives in hope of a new dawn

Venus! My Galatea was eternal

But yours shall know that hourglass we call age

The Artist creates beyond the laws of time

But when gods conspire with the human inside

Everlasting Art,  ever the victim of their crime!

Venus! No love is true with the spirit tied

Take back that which is a cruel imitation

Take back what you gave in the name of heart

Give back the product of Mind’s creation

 Give back my gift to a distant generation

Return to me the genius of my Art!






(Scene 5, Appolo and Venus, looking at Pygmalion through his window)


Appolo


Your victory was but an illusion

And soon all is what it was meant to be

Needless was the divine intrusion

Unworthy was Venus’s inclusion

Of what Pygmalion’s heart was not  to see
`
Give him back that Galatea of yore

Not the creature of heart but of his dreams

Although at your altar he might implore

His bliss is the mystery of lifeless stone

That carries mortal thoughts to an immortal shore


Venus:

He will get back his unmoving creation

Today, he renounced both Venus and love

What I gave him was the true liberation

From bondage of a never-ending quest
 
Of a mind ever weary and a heart oppressed

 Your gift to him shall be his eternal curse

If today Reason triumphed over his heart

Think not that his first bliss he is to find

For if you give the blind one moment of sight

Will he ever be happy when back in the dark?

I shall take from Galatea life’s spark

Yet in his heart I shall keep that seed of love

That whenever his spirit rises far above

And while he swears to live from love apart

His gaze shall always be that of mortal man

He may create a perfect image from perfect stone

Yet shall know the memory of dispossession

His eyes forever searching for what he lost

Through a cruel prayer in a cruel night

If my work ruined the genius of his Art

Giving her a soul that knows the laws of time

His work too shall carry the recall of a crime

In a woman’s memory he shall live his days

That, Appolo, shall be your curse and my revenge

Until that eternal cycle is complete

The day  Pygmalion kneels at my altar and prays!



By Comte Almaviva 

Pygmalion and Galatea, a lyrical poem - Scene 5 (final scene)

(Scene 5, Appolo and Venus, looking at Pygmalion through his window)


Appolo


Your victory was but an illusion

And soon all is what it was meant to be

Needless was the divine intrusion

Unworthy was Venus’s inclusion

Of what Pygmalion’s heart was not  to see
`
Give him back that Galatea of yore

Not the creature of heart but of his dreams

Although at your altar he might implore

His bliss is the mystery of lifeless stone

That carries mortal thoughts to an immortal shore


Venus:

He will get back his unmoving creation

Today, he renounced both Venus and love

What I gave him was the true liberation

From bondage of a never-ending quest
 
Of a mind ever weary and a heart oppressed

 Your gift to him shall be his eternal curse

If today Reason triumphed over his heart

Think not that his first bliss he is to find

For if you give the blind one moment of sight

Will he ever be happy when back in the dark?

I shall take from Galatea life’s spark

Yet in his heart I shall keep that seed of love

That whenever his spirit rises far above

And while he swears to live from love apart

His gaze shall always be that of mortal man

He may create a perfect image from perfect stone

Yet shall know the memory of dispossession

His eyes forever searching for what he lost

Through a cruel prayer in a cruel night

If my work ruined the genius of his Art

Giving her a soul that knows the laws of time

His work too shall carry the recall of a crime

In a woman’s memory he shall live his days

That, Appolo, shall be your curse and my revenge

Until that eternal cycle is complete

The day  Pygmalion kneels at my altar and prays!

Pygmalion a lyrical poem - Scene 4

Scene 4: Pygmalion, walking alone under a moonlit night

Pygmalion:

One night  I thought my genius rose

Above the fates of gods and their creation

For once the spirit denied the mortal laws

No god deterred a limitless    imagination

Galatea was the child of my mind

Years I worked in the stillness of the night

When  man and beast close their idle eyes

And lived without both man’s truth and lies

While I labored for an image of perfection

She was both companion to the mind and heart

With  with the spirit content, with the labor done

I declared that over you gods I’d won

For there she stood, of my victory the annunciation

Yet when minds grow weary, the heart takes the stage

Hitherto freedom was a limitless quest

Yet now it was a human desire

I denied Appolo, and cursed my fate:

That while my spirit may roam far above

I shall be creator of beauty, yet know not love

And with a heart full of sorrow and of rage

I prayed Venus, to make human out of divine

An earthly love out of a perfect design

Thence for a year I saw happiness in Galatea

And embraced the bars of this blissful cage

But while Galatea received the gift of life

She no longer was the creature of my dream

Day after day, my gift to her the more withdrawn

conquered by a  god’s curse: that she may know time

She could not show love when of marble stone

Yet she was my gift to a never-ending future

That ever lives in hope of a new dawn

Venus! My Galatea was eternal

But yours shall know that hourglass we call age

The Artist creates beyond the laws of time

But when gods conspire with the human inside

Everlasting Art,  ever the victim of their crime!

Venus! No love is true with the spirit tied

Take back that which is a cruel imitation

Take back what you gave in the name of heart

Give back the product of Mind’s creation

 Give back my gift to a distant generation

Return to me the genius of my Art!



 By Comte Almaviva

Pygmalion a lyrical poem - Scene 3

Scene 3  Galatea, kneeling by the sleeping  Pygmalion in their cottage

Galatea

What is the secret of existence

But a divine gift that was twice received ?

Once, the genius of Art gave instance

Thence, from gods’ breath the  spirit conceived ?

Pygmalion, husband, creator,  friend, and  love

Is it a glimpse of sorrow on your face ?

My life span is a  year, spent by your side

Wherein you showered me with kisses each dawn

Yet tonight, of your  love, I see no trace

 Tonight, I see the veil  that masks a fear

but I shall ask  not for the truth unveiled

Let not the eyes search for false happiness

That was not meant for a human to find

Swear an eternal love  as you did the day

you forewent Reason in the will to pray

When with a breath of Venus I came to life

Know that if Galatea once was the work of the mind

None  but the name  remains in your wife

Ageless  stone may tell of miracles, but will not love

Yet our mortal hearts are forever entwined

Fadwa Touqan - liberty of a people

Liberty of a People - Fadwa Touqan 

My Liberty!

My Liberty!

My Liberty!

A cry I repeat

With anger’s very mouth

Under the bullets

Within the circle of fire

Inspite of my shackles

I run behind her

Inspite of the darkness

I follow her steps

And I remain

Carried on the tide of anger

Fighting, crying, “My Liberty!”

My Liberty!

My Liberty!

The sacred river

And the bridges

Echo my words

My Liberty!

And the two banks

Echo my words

My Liberty!

The pathways of the angry wind

Thunder, rain and hurricanes

In my homeland

Echo my words

My Liberty!

My Liberty! My Liberty! My Liberty!

Resisting, I shall engrave her name

In the earth

In the walls

In the doors

On the balconies

On the altar of the Virgin Mary

In the Mosques

In the farm roads

On every hill top and every slope

Every corner and every street

Every prison every torture chamber

On the wood of the gallows

Against all the chains

Against the destruction of the homes

Against the flames and fires

I shall engrave her name

Until I see it spread

in my homeland

Growing,

Growing

And Growing

Until it covers every inch of the land

Until the red freedom opens every door

The night escapes,

The light knocks down

The foundation of the fog

My Liberty!

My Liberty!

The sacred river

And the bridges

Echo my words

My Liberty!

And the two banks

Echo my words

My Liberty!

The pathways of the angry wind

Thunder, rain and hurricanes

In my homeland

Echo my words

My Liberty!

My Liberty! My Liberty! My Liberty!

Translated by Comte Almaviva

Pygmalion a lyrical poem - Scenes 1 and 2

This will be my attempt at writing a quasi-lyric poem about the legend of Pygmalion and Galatea, the theme being the eternal struggle of the mind, the logic that aspires towards perfection and the heart, which does not hold perfection as a condition for love. I have not fully respected the meters of English poetry and the rhyme is not rigid, but I kept it loosely there so that it sounds more musical without constraining the meaning to the form. below are scenes 1 and 2.  I will add the other scenes in future posts.

As a clarification, this poem is based on Tawfiq al Hakim's symbolic theater play. 
 


Scene 1: Pygmalion, in the middle of the night, reaches the altar of Venus in her temple, and throws himself in front of her statue

Pygmalion :


Tonight I pray to thee Venus

Forgive this sorrowful heart

Who knew no one but Appolo

The giver of reason and of Art

And  of ambitions ever unbound

who  set my spirit on fire

to rise above this finite land

to seek over Mount Olympus

what is beyond the Genius

of both man and immortal god.

And I  set within the marble stone

The music of Appolo’s  lyre

day after day, with this mortal hand

I soared above what  gods aspire

Galatea, the name I carved in words

Unadorned she was, unequal was pure gold

She was my victory, over all you gods

For no god ever made perfect man

Yet that night, perfection was mine to hold !

But where Genius rose ever higher

The void left was filled with desire,

One lonely night not before too long

I sang to her, she offer’d back no song

And where whisper’d tales with tears I told

Her eyes were idle, her palms were cold

Tonight I pray to thee Venus !

Take back all the Genius of my soul

Take back Appolo’s poisoned chalice

Of gods, I no longer wish the role

Breath in her the gift of love and life

That I may find by her, warmth in night

That I  may know how mortal fates unite

Make imperfect this - my perfection

Take  Galatea, my miracle of creation

Give me Galatea the human, the wife !



Scene 2 : Dialogue of Venus and Appolo, in front of a magic fountain showing both Venus’s temple and Galatea in Pygmalion’s cottage



Venus


Witness my victory god of Art

god of Genius, music and Mind

Your proudest creation has a heart

His vows to Appolo, this night unsigned

How unwise, brother, to think a man

May rise to take the role of  god

When we spelled the frailties of mankind

Between heart and reason their choice was made:

Without reason, man may live his life

Yet not a day – by Cupid- from love apart

Appolo :

Our powers are vast but minds finite

While  limitless is man’s imagination

gods create the man, who works the night

to rise above us in his own creation

Galatea her name –lifeless she stands

Yet holds  Pygmalion’s genius and soul

He did not pray Venus, yet still knew love

For Is Galatea the work of  just the hands,

When each night watered with the artist’s tears?

I ask you sister, not to hear his cries

For if you breath into her a mortal life

Happiness he may know, but for a day

If tonight he calls her his love, his wife

Tomorrow she’ll be  a Memory of

your crime against labour and  perfection

Begrudge him not  the sorrows of his heart

Such is his fate to seek his happiness

In making the immortal, from a mortal mind

Do not destroy the miracle of his Art

In the name of the  lonely winter’s tears


For if Galatea is the artist’s lasting miracle,

we the gods made the human’s fears

Venus :

I do not live to do favours for man

Be he a genius or a petty thief

But  prayers of love I cannot deny

should they bring joy, misery or grief

You see in  Galatea your victory

When the artist rose over Olympus high?

Yet Pygmalion shall be my triumph

In her love he’ll find eternal belief !

(She raises her hands)

Cupid ! Prepare your quiver for the game

Tonight thine arrows shall cover the sky !

Pygmalion a lyrical poem - Scene 2

Scene 2 : Dialogue of Venus and Appolo, in front of a magic fountain showing both Venus’s temple and Galatea in Pygmalion’s cottage





Venus


Witness my victory god of Art

god of Genius, music and Mind

Your proudest creation has a heart

His vows to Appolo, this night unsigned

How unwise, brother, to think a man

May rise to take the role of  god

When we spelled the frailties of mankind

Between heart and reason their choice was made:

Without reason, man may live his life

Yet not a day – by Cupid- from love apart

Appolo :

Our powers are vast but minds finite

While  limitless is man’s imagination

gods create the man, who works the night

to rise above us in his own creation

Galatea her name –lifeless she stands

Yet holds  Pygmalion’s genius and soul

He did not pray Venus, yet still knew love

For Is Galatea the work of  just the hands,

When each night watered with the artist’s tears?

I ask you sister, not to hear his cries

For if you breath into her a mortal life

Happiness he may know, but for a day

If tonight he calls her his love, his wife

Tomorrow she’ll be  a Memory of

your crime against labour and  perfection

Begrudge him not  the sorrows of his heart

Such is his fate to seek his happiness

In making the immortal, from a mortal mind

Do not destroy the miracle of his Art

In the name of the  lonely winter’s tears


For if Galatea is the artist’s lasting miracle,

we the gods made the human’s fears

Venus :

I do not live to do favours for man

Be he a genius or a petty thief

But  prayers of love I cannot deny

should they bring joy, misery or grief

You see in  Galatea your victory

When the artist rose over Olympus high?

Yet Pygmalion shall be my triumph

In her love he’ll find eternal belief !

(She raises her hands)

Cupid ! Prepare your quiver for the game

Tonight thine arrows shall cover the sky !



By Comte Almaviva

To that woman resisting oppression

Her pain is  sundered from speech
She lives  a  modern tragedy
But where hope seems out of reach
In her pure heart is  the remedy

In shadows  of their twisted mind
How fore’er they pushed her to hate !
They dug – but naught were they to find
for love – her heart’s  one only state !

Justice no longer is  a distant dream
When cries  echoe in nightingale’s wings
When sighs glide  in the waters of a stream
When through her voice, an angel sings

And  tyrants know their end is nigh
Lack of Mercy :  a sign of the weak
Those oppressed, with spirits held high
Will live – and e’er higher they shall seek

Her heart is split in two, yet both are strong
One half resists,  the other shall  pray
But soon they meet, and  their  hopeful song
Shall end the night and bring the light of day

By Comte Almaviva

Pygmalion and Galatea, a lyrical poem - Scene 1

This will be my attempt at writing a quasi-lyric poem about the legend of Pygmalion and Galatea, the theme being the eternal struggle of the mind, the logic that aspires towards perfection and the heart, which does not hold perfection as a condition for love. I have not fully respected the meters of English poetry and the rhyme is not rigid, but I kept it loosely there so that it sounds more musical without constraining the meaning to the form. This is scene one and I will add the other scenes in future posts.

Scene one : Pygmalion at the altar of Venus, the middle of the night.

 Pygmalion :


Tonight I pray to thee Venus

Forgive this sorrowful heart

Who knew no one but Appolo

The giver of reason and of Art

And  of ambitions ever unbound

who  set my spirit on fire

to rise above this finite land

to seek over Mount Olympus

what is beyond the Genius

of both man and immortal god.

And I  set within the marble stone

The music of Appolo’s  lyre

day after day, with this mortal hand

I soared above what  gods aspire

Galatea, the name I carved in words

Unadorned she was, unequal was pure gold

She was my victory, over all you gods

For no god ever made perfect man

Yet that night, perfection was mine to hold !

But where Genius rose ever higher

The void left was filled with desire,

One lonely night not before too long

I sang to her, she offer’d back no song

And where whisper’d tales with tears I told

Her eyes were idle, her palms were cold

Tonight I pray to thee Venus !

Take back all the Genius of my soul

Take back Appolo’s poisoned chalice

Of gods, I no longer wish the role

Breath in her the gift of love and life

That I may find by her, warmth in night

That I  may know how mortal fates unite

Make imperfect this - my perfection

Take  Galatea, my miracle of creation

Give me Galatea the human, the wife !