By Fathi Muhadub | Tunisia
From Arabic Dr. Yousef Hanna | Palestine
I know many people in distant cities.
They sleep suspended in the air
Like piercing stars and in daytime they evaporate
I visit them in my sleep with a super-balloon.
I take a statue who lost his hand
By a crocodile bite.
An Alchemist cooks glyphs and signs
In a gelatinous utensil
A laughing horse I gift to a widow
Waiting for me in a heavenly swing
We exchange luxury books and gifts
We do not land to the ground and over our heads tweet
Birds from enchanted planets.
His hands are cut off.
A pigeon fed him with its beautiful beak
Letting him listen to a musical interval.
When he sleeps, she carries him under her wings
To an exciting island
Where thick trees longing
To the rhythm of his joints.
I often hear crackles in my room.
A mummy shivering of cold
Disappears under my bed
– Do not take pity on the rain rhythm
he’s not Tutankhamun
Chasing you on a Circassian horse…
Rain barks continuously all night.
What is the use of these abundant planets?
And these blind holes?
That threatens a bird that thinks about the essence death is with a shell?
What is the use of these superimposed galaxies?
These absurd forts,
Filled with nothing?
What is the secret of crossing millions of years
on the surface of the ground?
nobody visited me but a fish
She was swimming in the jailer’s eyes.
I write to have a ship loaded with mail of the shipwrecked and the blind visit me.
I write because my texts grant me very rare fruits…
I am writing to domesticate the abyss…
And to trim the nails of impossible.