images

Paintings by Pablo Picasso (collected from internet)

Ache flutes

 

Really…

I do not reflect on eternity

But all the history is that I rebuke

the wind in the introduced poem…

I roister as god does in the poet‘s funeral ceremony

I lie down on a tree border embracing baby fruit

embroider my face on my shoulder

and scatter climates of nostalgia   …

For suckling desire from bundle talk

But the milk cries if berate history is gushing out

a dream lost on the sly with peeps stars …

I have no face to wet my confusion in a sky

for a new happiness

I will seclude in the bottom of the absence

And scratch his extravagant night   …

Intimidate the silence to the resignation of

the emptiness

and collect pebbles to court ache flutes ….

 

(Translated from Arabic by Fethi Sassi)

 

A wild woman

 

I say  …

Why don’t I go astray Burdened by winter

Probing into the realm of the poem   ?

That’s why my mother told me   :

Don’t drink milk with the jerk

Ride towards the north of the night  ….

And drink her face  …

No shadow left you ; but what befalls  you

Is the alienation of exiles upon the last cloud

That splintered in the tavern of the night

In fact  ….

you desire nothing but a wild woman  ….

Bones of a tree that changes its clothes for your forthcoming wedding

 

And a poem that wets the hair of water with a ballad  …

Thus we parted like a hug  ….

Therefore, my son you have to woo your wound   …

So that you pick up an amazement from her lips

Come in and let the sun bathe her face in your hands  …

Let the coal of the story blaze with your longing

Dwell in fire to warm up the poem

On the shadow of the factors

Definitely the lightening will dwell stealthily in her cup of coffee.

So you become  ….

The stature of roses …  and a tavern of tears

Then at the extremity of the threads of poetry

Bathe in the salt of her lips

Lay the absence on fire   ….

So that the rose grows old with her bleeding fragrance

And the poem peeps on my fingertips

 

The evening smells the metaphor

excessive in counting its fingertips

The spikes yearn for the call  ….

And the story remains like a tattoo on the shoulder of

doves   …..

 

(translated from Arabic  by Monia Zguidi)

About the Poet

fethiFETHI SASSI born on the 1st of June 1962 in Nabeul Tunisia. A writer of prose poetry and short poems. He participated in several national literary meetings . A member in the Tunisian Writers’ Union. And member in the Literature Club at the cultural center of Sousse. His first book of poetry entitled “A Seed of Love” was published in the year 2010 . The second  entitled  “ I dream …. And i sign on birds the last words “On 2013 .The third book of poetry   ” a sky for a strange bird “ in Egypt  .And  a short poem book entitled  “ All the universe is only the face of my beloved.