To the children-in-helmets whose blood and corpses graced Tahrir, Maspero and Rabaa; who left us with dishonored soil and shame that make our skin fall — Wael
The blue-eyed of Al-Yamama was a pre-Islamic figure
Al-Yamama is an ancient region in what is known today as Saudi Arabia
Aabs are tribes in central Arabia
O ye Holy Hex
To ye, come do I,
marred by the stabs and blood;
crawling in the coats of the murdered,
on piles of corpses;
with a broken sword,
and dusty forehead and limbs
O ye blue-eyed, ask do I
About thine lips of sapphire
About the prophecy of the virgin
About my mutilated arm,
still holding a half-staff flag
About the sight of children in helmets,
scattered across the desert
About my neighbor, about to sip water,
a bullet putting a hole in his head,
at the moment of his lips touching the bottle
About the mouth,
filled with sand and blood
O ye blue-eyed, ask do I
About standing unarmed,
between the sword and the wall
About the screams of women,
between captivity and fleeing
How did I carry the shame?
Then walked,
without killing myself;
without breaking down
without my skin falling, of the weight of dishonored soil
Speak up, O ye Holy Prophet
Speak up,
by God, by the damned, by Satan
Close not thy eyne
For the rats are licking my blood as their soup,
and fend them cannot I
Speak up,
for so humiliated am I
The darkness of the night does not conceal my privates,
nor does the wall
nor does the newspaper I hold
nor does hiding in the clouds of smoke
Freshly playful girl with big eyne, joyfully jumps around me
Darling, I said, he told tales about you,
while we were in the trenches
unbuttoning our jackets, and resting the rifles
And about to die thirsty, in the scorching desert
he moistened the dry lips with thy name
Then sagged the eyne
So where could I hide my indicted, convicted face?
while thine gleeful smile is his;
and the face and dimples
Oh ye, Holy Prophet
Mute ye not,
for I muted annum after annum
to earn the bestowed safety
I was told “mute”
And I muted,
blinded and followed the castrated
Enslaved by Aabs,
guarding the herds
shearing the wool
fending the camels
Sleeping in the sheds of obliviousness
My food is a piece of bread, water and a few musty fruits
And here am I,
at the time of the fight;
when the armoured, the snipers and knights all fled
I, who never tasted lamb;
I, who is helpless and hopeless;
I, who is banned from youngster parties,
am invited to death,
and never was I invited to the festival
Speak up, O ye Holy Prophet
Speak up, speak up
Here am I, on the sand bleeding is my blood
And the sand is thirsty asking for more
Ask do I, the silence choking me,
why are the camels moving so slowly?
are they carrying corpses or loads of iron?
Who could be truthful to me?
Ask do I, the kneeling and the prostrating
Ask do I, the shackles
why are the camels moving so slowly?
why are the camels moving so slowly?
Oh ye Holy Hex
What would the sorrowful words do?
Ye told them on the caravans of dust
They accused thy eyne – ye blue eyed – of being barren
Ye told them on the marching trees
They mocked thy chatty delusions
And when the edge of the sword startled them,
they traded us
they beseeched feeling and survival
And heart-broken are we
Hurt, soul and tongue
Nothing left but death,
and debris
and carnage
Homeless children crossing the the last free river
And women walking
in the shackles of captivity and outfits of shame
heads tilted
with nothing but the slumbering screams
Here are ye blue-eyed
Blind and lonely
And linger do the love songs and lights
luxury cars and fashion
So where do I hide my disfigured face?
for not do I disrupt the serenity;
the foolish, delusional serenity;
in the eyne of noblemen and noblewomen
And ye blue-eyed
Blind and lonely
Blind and lonely
Wael AbdAlmageed
Pittsburgh, January 10, 2022
Translating Amal 