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lost in translation...

I sent my soul

12/13/2016

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​I have no words to express how I feel about Syria in general and Aleppo in particular so I will share my rough translation of this poem by a man who was forced to flee his village a few years ago. Please read it and listen to him recite it to get the full emotional experience that is lost in translation.

I sent my soul

I sent my soul to our house 
To roam around it, since our steps have no way to get back to it,
To ask the house if it still remembers us or has it forgotten since its inhabitants fled
To ask the ceiling if it is still standing. Above the wall, 
Triumphant no matter what they do or has it knelt down to the earth in prostration, venting to God in sadness and supplicating

To ask the palm tree if its sleeves have ripened. 
To ask the figs and olives, intertwined, are the fruits from the vines hanging low
just like pearls 
Or is the blackberry tree and the branches, stretched out and heavy with its delectable load
It is a distant hope, oh house of ours, that life will again become tranquil 
and the dispersed become, after such separation, whole
But my soul shall remain its inhabitant
Despite that nothing remains in Atmah, not a sheep nor camel
If I die, oh house of mine, or time keeps us apart for long
Then patience, oh house of mine, 
Our patience shall not weaken
For after every dark night, a dawn shall break through 
And light will shine brilliantly as darkness subsides
And justice shall prevail, 
high above all creation
It's white flags are not deceiving nor belying
Traces of morning are bringing glad tidings 
No signs of idolatry will remain in the open
The beginning of victory is to destroy the idols
As our prophet did, whose example we follow 
In Hama, stepping on their heads with their shoes, a jackass climbs up and replaces their idol
Oh how they took us for cattle
For no men amidst us can take the reigns
أرسلت روحي إلى داري تطوف بها
لما خطانا إليها ما لها سبلُ
أن تسأل الدار إن كانت تذكرنا
أم أنها نسيت إذ أهلها رحلوا
أن تسأل السقف هل مازال منتصبًا
فوق الجدار شموخًا رغم ما فعلوا
أم أنها ركعت للأرض ساجدة
تشكو إلى الله في حزن وتبتهل
أن تسأل النخل هل أكمامه نضجت
أن تسأل التين والزيتون متصل
أما القطوف من الأعناب دانية
مثل اللآلئ كالحوراء تكتحل
أم شجرة التوت والأغصان فارعة
ناءت بحمل وقد طابت بها الأكل
هيهات يا دار أن تصفو الحياة بنا ويرجع الجمع بعد النأي مكتمل
لكن روحي ستبقى فيها ساكنة
ما لي بأطمة لا شاة ولا جمل
إن مت يا دار أو طال الفراق بنا
فالصبر يا دار لا يضعف لنا أمل
لابد لليل من صبح يبدده
ويسطع النور والظلماء ترتحل
ويرجع الحق فوق الكون عالية
راياته البيض لا كفر ولا دجل
علائم الصبح قد لاحت مبشرة
لم يبق في الساح لا عُزَّى ولا هُبَل
فأول النصر للأوثان نكسرها
فعل الخليل وفعل المصطفى مثل
أو في حماة يدوس النصب نعلهم والجحش يصعد عن تمثالهم بدن
يا للتفاهة ظنوا أننا بهم
ما للصدارة في أوساطنا رجل
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    Palestinian, Muslim, American, Husband, Father, Academic, Pharmacist, Coffee Addict, Nutella phene, Pseudo writer, Soccer player, former Canadian, Community servant, Pinch hitter imam, interfaith ninja, Intellectual vigilante, and the undisputed KING of snark ​

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