Life Runs Wherever You Catch It

Translated by Soheil Najm
Edited by Mark Pirie



O women of Babylon
O granddaughters of hurt
set the wind in Caravan Street,
and hang the wail on Ishtar’s roads.
Here it is, the darkness climbing the seasons:
Hussein has died.
Incense the evenings
and go round his youth.
Over his bier,
disperse the femininity
and light the bleeding candles
on the words to let your weeping extend.

I say to him;
‘Life runs wherever you catch it
and wherever you leave your valour
to dissolve as a banquet for the earth.
Do not boast of your revenge,
for you have shut your book on us.’

O women of Babylon,
Hussein has died.
Let’s count the orchards on his shirt,
the longing of the doves
and all the letters the bombardment
forgot.
Let’s count too
his father’s wisdom under Autumn’s control
and his date palms,
and let’s call out through the land:
Hussein has died!

You distributed the dawn to us
and shared the day with us,
you gave us directions
to harvest dryness into rain,
you led perplexity
to a certain pasture
that spread flowers and kisses
over our weeping
and when fear enthroned our shoulders
you disposed of our stumbles.
How come then…
you let the absence
belittle your glamour to us –
please, mind not
about our tears when they inscribe:
Hussein
has died...