The Stentorian Text (The Strain of Departure)

Por: Hanan Awwad




The man who has dwelt in our hearts,
He embraced us through the streaks of flame, and travelled to us with Cananite eyes.
The man who does not set out except for us and with us .He departs to find
Us dignified in the designing the upshot of integrity and grandeur.


The strain of departure was scorching ,The soul was set aflame .It mounted the injured soul on the twigs of tribulation .The twig broke and clave to its remaining parts.
The crevice worsened being in conflict with a melancholic twig and a bush,
Trying to embrace what remaind.
Reminiscence used to follow from your eyes and cocoon in the lap of my warm memory.
The place is desolate.OH.Invisible and In Propria Persona.
Your presence conglomerates the warmth of the universe on the sinking pench in the silence of the moment.
I have missed you,when remembering the soothing tune whose rhythm became discordant when the place lacked your presence.
I visualize your coming like the sharp wheels of destiny to burden us with the trust and write the will.

Who will compensate me for your loss??
Who will compensate the Palestinian people for this loss and separation???
Who will pour the anaesthetic on the painful wounds????
And,who will question,interrogate and examine?????
All my wings broke
All my wings broke.
Oh Father,You are national concept and my dignified voice.
Oh Father,you are the portrait of glory in the attire of hope.
How did the hours make their way to us with their bitter strains and in the steam of the moment laced with barked wires and thornes?
The tragic moment approached and the excruciating farewell happened.
We have missed you,Father,when our eyes were turned away from you;and we only indulged in the surrounding temptetions.
We have missed you,Father,when our behavior was solely in favour of ourselves,and we were satisfied with it as our symbol and motto.
Wewe have missed you-we killed you, father,whilst ignoring you and seeing only your RED SIGNATURE” and you are hanged on the gallows of Caesar.”
We missed you,in the memory of the luxury of one’s self interist.
You are the voice of the fighter,then the adventurer.
We missed you,We asssssinated you when we concealed facts and committed sins.
We missed you,when we slumbered on the commanding sites of difficulties.
We kept walking in the path of lovers,the absent.
We missed you,Father,when our voices swooned wile we were around you,while we sucking the water of the passing romance.
We missed you and left you alone steadfast,enduring and in pain with open wounds,withan outcry in every nook andcomer in the near and far regions,
Rain,hurricanes and revolutions broke out covering all the excrescence of
The Homeland.
What a rebarbative situation.Has the heart a pulse and has the pulse a strain whilst we bid farewell to the strain?
Are we satisfied with the investigation and High Story Courts?
Are we content with the decisions and apologies?
Will that be sufficient the tears in the eye and heart and our immortal partiality towards you?
How could the tiny particles of sand dare to pile up in the direction of your hands and you are the core of the ever-prevalent seed and concept?
And I wonder how the knell was rung to delineate a horizon in preparation for the “Terminus AD QUEM” of death.
I also wonder how voices could dare to raise after your death in exchange talks leading to the terminal point of the tunnel.
I also wonder how the observers,the ambassadors,poets,princes and friends dare to announce the tiding of the demise before it actually occurred.
What shall I say about this pugnacious time?
What shall I say about this time of apostasy?
What shall I say about this time of Mameluke?
What can I say about hazy situation?
What shall I say about promises that rested in the bank accounts of their gods and lost the immortal symbol?
What could I say and I felt your strangling voice when whe you were portrayed a most reverend and dignified Arab Prophet.
They wanted you an ordinary man one of the laity who is frightened of fate,afraid of poverty and rain.
They wanted you frightened from theSIEGE.
They accused you of concealing an account so that the ‘bats’can live.
I caress your ruddy face
And your eyes that glint fire and defiance
Do not bow
What can I say after I have discovered the TRUTH?
Who has decided to keep in cold storage your name and affiliate himself with in order to be the Hero and the LIMELIGHT in an illustrious play?
What should I say to those who plagiarise the sublime position through a decision using the embossing seal and approved ink bearing the stamp of the central government?
There are scattered colours….dust,dust and dust.
What can I say?Redness is here and there,yellowness and dubious decision.
Dust burns me and fog kills me falling on my memory trying to decipher and give proper details.
What can I say and the Arabian Fatima amidst a moment of norescence cries out handling a bargain,and all run carrying the pecuniary bags ‘chanting money’.
OH..OH I have not seen my mother…I have not seen your mother,
I se no body around you.
But the Battle of UHUD has manifested it self in time of sin.
The mount has shaken and you continue to dodge the wind flying with wild abandon in your domain.
The Food tables(The banquets) have remendously expanded in area.
Night- life has become affluent and in full swing.
A’shah is observant and Khadijah is indifferent.
And Mustafa has wrapped himself with a Kerchief(KUFIYAH) soliloquizing
Beleiving in the moment of demise
That he may become-may become the other face where he conceals himself
In himself.
He blossomed,he became yellow,then he blossomed then he became adverse.
It was a repugnant scene and you were the pulchritude.
Fatima awaited your departure-Awaited your departure.
The scene was grievous and you were the sublime beauty.
You wanted dignity and they wanted you non-existent,You were the prime hope of spring.
You wanted the testimony,and they wanted you a lost person.
YOU wanted grandeur and they wanted you a lover lacking splendor.
You wanted security,You wanted redemption.
They wanted the banquet before ringing the knell.
The unharried slaughtering started.
There was no grant of respite…there was no grant of respite.
But they felt the vains of consciousness and the determination well built in you.
They set up the cross for you.
The friend and the companion perambulated.
The son,the father and faithful uncle,all participated in the crucifixion.
As well as he who carried the turban in witness to the silent departure.
They set up all wooden crosses to the beloved,to the beloved.
And all crosses were nailed-inaugurated in the nails of pedition,
And you loom up Great and Glorious.
You are the mellow of fidelity.You observe our faithfulness,you call,
The companions look strange
The relative are strangers-The beloved are strangers
Looking for the ‘Mountain of gold’ fabricating dangers and mistakes.
Each day they assume a mask withen a mask.
Blood is shed on the threshold of the prime of youth age.
And the blood is Palestine.
And the glory is You PALESTINE.
They hastened all instruments of departure.
They hastened in the acceleration of the memory.
The hastened in the preparation of the farewell text.
They hastened in the’Last Supper’
And whilst bidding farewell,they approved the singing,they approved the bet.
They hastened in summarizing destiny.
They formulate security brightly present as if the scene were as luminious as the brightness of the day.
As if they were content with the scene,
Weaving the sun rays in the midst of darkness.
Embracing the imprisioned day,
Floating with the text was the morning sun.
Farwell stumbles.
Loving roses wake up laurel and wreaths as expiation to the eminent silence
And the revolution of the long one.

Apologies to your eyes that remonstrate us earnestly,
While you looked from the plane that you boarded
To There.
You are with us a dear lover.
Oh,Sublime lover
Oh,Dearest lover
I apologise to You
In your elegy,there will be no reports,
Loyalty and aalegiance creep to you,
I apologise to you…to your eyes,to your candidness and philanthropic feeling.
I am sorry for your chast sublime spirit flying with us to absolute liberty and justice.
I am sorry, Father,while I write my story of affiliation
And you are stronghold for us,for me
I am sorry,Father,the most beloved
Oh,Great Father,Great Leader
And you cast a furtive glance at the men
You called all the night and your voice penetrated the air
Sleep deserted you,far away,far away
You crossed the seas,but you remained a French fountain despite lack of docility around you.
I smell a strange smell emanating from there,
I smell the smell of horror over there,
I smell the smell of digrace and destruction,
And the premeditated silence
And the escape to the escape
And the curtains falls..And the Curtains falls
I glorify everything in you-I glorify all things
I glorify the ashes that embraced you
I glorify the white coffin that shrouded your body
I glorify your special language
Which you used in the communication with the Sultanate thrones
I glorify your commandments and your eye gesticulation
And all that you say
How to ripen you,and you are the sweet drops in immortal chalice of existence?
How to ripen you and the butterflies of spring Palestine clubded together around you.
Pine and olive trees have assumed their declared grandeur
And the candles of fidelity were lit in a sacred glowing oil.
Oh,the baptized by Jerusalem,soil and perfume
Clad in glory and faithfulness,
Elected to the devine benefaction,
Where you nonpulssed at the conspiracy whose traits were strewn over your chaste body and drove you over the path of suffering with no return?
How to bed you farewell?
With what carnation and garlands,olive twig, and applause.!
And the voice of ALLAHU AKBAR(GOD IS THE GREATEST) coming out from the walls of our city-Jerusalem.!
By what prose or a poem or verse
By what vision,rose,story and novel whose inspiration stems out from your transfiguration.
Its strain is a whisper of singing..hymns.
Pass me your hand to kiss twice,three times and for times
Pass me your lofty forhead to decorate so that you can rest in your laurel.
And shower it with an exhaling fragrance.
Pass me your immaculate voice.
Pass me your Kuffiyah which is woven with covenant.
Rest in Peace,we pledge and I pledge
Therefore,we promiss
Oh,Yasser,Oh,Abu Ammar
Grant us extra hours.
Do not depart.
Grant us a great moment of magnanimity to procrastinate departure.
Grant us our Dignity in you
Do not leave…Do not leave.
Grant us enough space to put off departure.
.Grant me some patience.
Do not depart
Do not depart
Grant me the strain of your presence.
And accept me your protection rapier
You will never be an emigrant
You will never be a stranger.
You will also be the beloved,the beloved.
You will never be but an
intimate lover.
You are mellowed with grandeur.
You are the signal of our secret.
You are the purity and throughyou is fidelity.
You are the conscience that will never die.
This farewell permeates to the depth of the wounds.
Farewell…Farewell explodes me,kills me and inflicts suffering and grief.
Farwell…Farwell questions me,asks for an account.
Light in the absolute is your light.
I rehearce your rhetoric twice and three times.
I cey..I cry.I tear up the papers they tear me up.
Oh farewell,you tear me up!
Frewell,oh warrior,in the cities of the volcano.
Farewell,he who is woven an eternal concept.
Farewell,he who is compact in time of similarity.
Farewell,he who is profuse with grandeur.
Farewll,he who is the keeper of the bledge.
Spreading security and disseminating tranquility from the cages of horror.
Farewell,you upright in the heavens of the righteous.
You are the avenger disseminating the message of those who have departed national anthym.
You jumped over the siege of the soul and the land
Plucking up your courage and spirit to’ LONG LIVE PALESTINE’
Farewell,Oh,dearest,conquerer of the impossible,
Farewell to the torture of the walls.
Farewell to the torture of the siege.
Peace be with you,
The miracle man of profusion
And genuine affiliation

Hanan Awwad   is a scholar, writer, and poet, as well as a fervent advocate of Palestinian independence. She born in Palestine at 1951. After earning a PhD in Literature and Humanities at McGill University, she became head of the Department of Cultural Studies and the Department of Humanities at the College of Science and Technology in Jerusalem. She is president of Pen in Palestine and member of the Palestinian National Council. He founded the Association of Palestinian Writers, the Association of Palestinian Journalists.

She was a cultural advisor to Yasser Arafat between 1998 and 2004 and a member of the Peace Commission for the Middle East. She has published, among other books, I write with my blood, 1983; The promised return, 1988; I chose the danger, 1988; From behind barbed wire, 1993; Memory of the siege, 2002; In the beginning YOU Palestine, 2004.

In 1988, she founded the Palestinian section of Women's International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF), where she works tirelessly to end to Israel’s occupation of Palestine, and for peace. In her role as chair of the PEN Centre, she has fought for freedom of speech and the protection of persecuted writers. She takes part every year in conferences all over the world adressing issues such as imperialism, conflict resolution, and the role of women in promoting peace in the Middle East and elsewhere. 

She won, among other awards, the Award of the Academy of Arts and Sciences of China, 2002; Poetry Award Italy, 2004; the Literature Prize of the Republic of Mali, awarded by the President; and Yasser Arafat, 2004 Award.

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Published at March 3rd, 2015

Última actualización: 30/12/2021