Hanan Awwad, Palestine
Por: Hanan Awwad
The Last words
Wrap me up oh Courtyards of Al-Aqsa
Take me with you oh rebellious days with redolent martyrs
With the wounded and freedom fighters,
Take me with you oh rebellious days beautified with glory´s scent
And immortals´ aroma,
Take me with you oh rebellious days ascending high
Like the motion of prayers in Palestine,
Take me with you oh rebellious days when dew overflows
The mornings of the children of awareness
Men of the day preceding the great feast furnish their souls
As a gift to a homeland to which its knights are carried in nuptial
celebration and return
Take me and wipe sorrow off my forehead
Bury my sleeplessness, vanish my worries, re-gather my charm
And spread my soul in the aura of Jasmine
I unite with you, with all moments,
Oh unity of the soul in homelands drawn in the struggle of the Rebellious.
Oh path of aloof war lovers ascending
There is a limit for life
Oh lovers´ path to God saying farewell to
To the world´s thrones, its delicacies, its gardens heading towards
A journey for struggle, hurling stones of defiance at
Those who stood in the way of light
Please I beg you those righteous Muhammads on the heights
And in the lowly world as well, do not turn back the caravan if it seeks refuge with
You from every wane.
Take me with you oh days
Take me with you oh glories
When your appearances approached, I recognized them before they emerged,
With them I moved before the waves of love of God broke out, unified in God
Towards the sublime homeland, you come near the time of travel
Crossing time, the harbingers of awakening, the calls for martyrdom and perils of
You approach with warmth as a promise becoming
In the rise of the dawns of our city, you draw near
The warmth of our revolution burst into flames
No migration but from you to you
No reduction but of your time in haste as the
Pledge is near.
No departure but for distances towards you
No expatriation but sailing in your eyes
THE STENTORIAN TEXT
(THE STRAIN OF DEPARTURE)
The man who has dwelt in our hearts,
He embraced us through the streaks of flame, and travelled to us with Canaanite 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 clove to its remaining parts.
The crevice worsened being in conflict with a melancholic twig and a bush,
Trying to embrace what remain.
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 bench 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 anesthetics 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 thrones?
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 temptations.
We have missed you, Father, when our behavior was solely in favor of ourselves, and we were satisfied with it as our symbol and motto.
We’ve 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 interest.
You are the voice of the fighter, then the adventurer.
We missed you, We assassinated 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 while 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, with an outcry in every nook and comer in the near and far regions,
Rain, hurricanes and revolutions broke out covering all the excrescence of
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 we 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 the SIEGE.
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
BE PREPAREd….BE ALERT
Do not bow
TRIUMPH IS AN HOUR’S FORBEARANCE
BE PREPARED….BE ALERT
“DO NOT BE BASHFUL
AND RAIS YOUR EYES TO ME
BECAUSE YOU ARE HANGED BESIDE ME ON CAESAR’S GALLOWS
PERHAPS,IF YOUR EYES CONFRONT DEATH IN MY EYE, NONE ENTITY WILL SMILE FROM WITHIN ME,
BECAUSE YOU HAVE PROUDLY LIFT UP YOUR HEADS FOR ONCE”
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 plagiarize 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 nor esence 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 see nobody around you.
But the Battle of UHUD has manifested itself 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 tremendously 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
Believing in the moment of demise
That he may become-may become the other face where he conceals 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 unhurried slaughtering started.
There was no grant of respite…there was no grant of respite.
But they felt the veins 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 perdition,
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 within 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 luminous 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 imprisoned day,
Floating with the text was the morning sun.
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
You are with us a dear lover.
Oh, Sublime lover
Oh, Dearest lover
I apologize to You
In your elegy, there will be no reports,
Loyalty and allegiance creep to you,
I apologize to you…to your eyes, to your candidness and philanthropic feeling.
I am sorry for your chest 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
WHERE ARE THE MEN? WHERE ARE 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 disgrace 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 clubbed 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 divine benefaction,
Where you non pulsed 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 forehead 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 promise
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
You are mellowed with grandeur.
You are the signal of our secret.
You are the purity and through you is fidelity.
You are the conscience that will never die.
YOU ARE THE PEOPLE WHO REFUSED TO 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 rehearse your rhetoric twice and three times.
I key. I cry. I tear up the papers they tear me up.
Oh farewell, you tear me up!
THE WOUND IN THEWORD IS THE BLOOD OF THE OWNED DEER.
Farewell, 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.
Farewell, he who is the keeper of the pledge.
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 anthem.
You jumped over the siege of the soul and the land
Plucking up your courage and spirit to’ LONG LIVE PALESTINE’
Farewell, Oh dearest, conqueror 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
THE MELODY OF THE MID-DAY HEAT
The melody was scorching,
The soul inflamed,
The injuries mounted the wounded soul
Over the flower of the twig,
The first experiment.
The twig broke open,
The bush cleaved to the remnants of its components,
The schismed fissure grew
A dangled twig of hardened complexion,
A bush, trying to embrace what I could gently save.
Remembrance was seeping from your eyes,
Perched upon the hump of sentimental memory,
The place was deserted,
O, you the Invisible, the Tangible.
Your presence gathers the warmth of the universe,
Over that plain which is plunged in the silence of the moment
I have missed you, missed
That passionate tune whose rhythm becomes discordant
Because that place lacked your presence
I see you to-ing and fro-ing
Like the spiked wheels of destiny.
Your wavering looks intimidate and perturb,
The generosity of your rising spirit nurturing mine
Is playing according to the rhythm of the first note.
Will you abscond, or sanction the first secret word,
Or, give respect to the fruit of the olive tree,
Or, take caution before delusion,
Or, be mute in fright for ten days, ten years,
Or, will you abandon
Passing stood frigid in soulless corners.
The outcry of destiny explodes
Over close-by and distant regions,
Higher than the rain, swifter than the tornado,
Leaner than the country’s skeleton.
All the homeland explodes,
All the revolutions,
All the land’s protuberance-explodes.
The usurped melody is soaring,
Your rhythm haunts me in pleasant lilac tune,
In the silence of the night
The recurrence of the clouded dream
Cover the caravan of flying paper.
Hanan Awwad was born in Jerusalem, Palestine, the thirteen of August of 1951. A prolific writer, doctorate in Canada, she is author of numerous books and has devoted her life to teaching and to show off the role of woman in the Palestinian cause. She is president of The Association of Palestinian Writers.