Poems by Moaen Shalabia

Poems by  Moaen Shalabia


The Music of the Body
معين شلبية / قصيدة موسيقى الجسد

On that night
Of July
And the rites of Sufi passion
On the bed of grief you are passing
The idea has been cut off
On the table of discarded love
And I am a poet from “Awghareet”
I lean on my thousand hesitations
For the retracted body
In the blaze of winding music
For the mythical spirit
For cupbearers
For the navel dancing
on the courtyards of resurrection
For the two breasts
For the motionless hunger
Behind the enmity of passions
For the two eyes is the sea
For the two lips
Where there is the smile
The superstition of the edge of phases
For the swimming hip
in the expanses of goodness
For her
She carries me over the dust of the wooden café
And she stretches out her hand
fleeing the part of the night that is for kisses
She was cutting it off from me
Years of travel
Books, generations, rivers
Cities, walls, sorrows
But the promise has been fulfilled.

قصيدة موسيقى الجسد
معين شلبية



In every city
on this earth
I see her face in the crowd
some women become more tempting
in the crowd.

Every time I see you barefooted
i scream in my loudest silence:
oh time, stop
how beautiful…

The room is empty except for two bodies
and a hearth of desire
one passed away
and the other is waiting.

Every woman touched by my fire
longed to come back again
with her fleeing shadows.

No one is in depth.. no
no one is in surface.. no
Jupiter behind my shadow
and the butterflies my absence
and the seas my obsessions on earth
oh homeland of wind
oh my homeland.

No poetry drips from the cold winds of my heart
as long as I have a grave hanging upon
our absent key
and how is the singer to sing
when the curtains of sadness are hung
if one side of them softens
the other dries.

I don’t know the poets
but I threw my poem in the wind
i occupy the way station
and the wind adorned me with its ring, I rushed into the space
no land carries me
and no horizon confines me
as if I, despite the remoteness of death
and how remote death is
the magnanimity in your hands clothes me
as if I am
free !

معين شلبية


My Foggy Window

Behind my foggy window,
The desire of revelation urges me
To uncover a planet that went deep into the clouds;
Remnants of a smell that scratch my body to go through,
Like a dreamer who goes through the mirrors of absence!

Behind my foggy window
A space for the moon splits in front of me in the darkness,
Steals a glance at her rising specter from below the rain.

Behind my foggy window,
She moves in front of me like the glimpse of the ‘ah!’ in my chest;
The sea pants in me like a trans-lust horse,
While the eternal blue erases the shadows of the sand,
And I depart to wherever the words carry me into the elegies of memories.

Behind my foggy window
I collected the wood inside me and set fire to it;
I arranged my Persian carpet, some of my writings, my tobacco, my senses,
A handful of music and the fragrance of her clothes,
And ran my hand even over the walls.

Behind my foggy window,
A broken intuition that is stricken by distress, anxiety, fear, and longing befalls me
For someone who infiltrates towards the visible vague and rises till grief;
It looks over my Self but I soon imagine that I am No one, No one!

Behind my foggy window,
Snowflakes fall on the coats of my heart and loss pours down
The taste of rain intensifies; sorrows sail into my soul –
And I cry:
My lady, My lady! O woman who takes off everything, except her femininity;
The wind will fill my clothes and on the bed of love, the whoop of creativity will spring!

Behind my foggy window,
She comes to me from nothingness, carrying her fiery wound
To awaken “Tammuz” , who has never been absent, in me,
“Tammuz” , who will certainly return!

Translated by Dr. Nazih Kassis


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