The Sea Has The Last Word
The sea has the
last word
A dryness seen
from afar on the shores
of her
nihilistic existence
As the waves
seek the secret of eternity
carving a long
chapter in the sands of boredom.
It is as if the
secrets of existence are scattered
between my hands
and the boundaries of time.
The sea has its
last word
On the wings of
the gulls,
the radiance of
life plays with life.
Mingling with
the water's foam
It's like a
journey that stirs my imagination
A dream that
hangs between waking and forgetting.
The sea has the
last word
It echoes in the
echoes of words in a way that is unique
as if it were a
contact of memory unrivalled by contact.
When the letters
meet the fervor of the words
as they sing
from night to day.
The sea has the
last word
The waters of
longing run without banks
The waters of
longing run without banks.
They are not
drawn in maps and promises
They nest in the
bosom of those who return.
As tents are a
home for lost souls.
The sea has the
last word
Despite the
ageing ruins behind the hills
She appears in
my eyes like
a simple face in
the wind of the sky
flowing from the
depths of the unseen
and dyes the
pure universe with its eternal color.
As if longing is
a blue river that flows leisurely
My heart pours its exiled fire into the veins
of time.
The sea has the
last word
Do you hear the
distance between your whisper and the echo?
Or is it lost in
the crowd of waves that run through my veins?
like fire in the
forests?
In A Language That Breathes
The Spirit Of Poetry
In a language
that breathes the spirit of poetry
And a cloudy
morning
Wrapped in
showers of rhythm and meteorism
A torrent of
metaphors and images
A poet blowing
fog over his tomorrow
And a charming,
elegant lady,
whose jugulars
are ash or farther away
Smiling and
drinking coffee at a leisurely pace
Near a
mysterious future in the far distant future.
She and poetry
are inseparable in us.
But if the
poetry dries up
I balance my
thirst on anxiety and dream in it
as a refugee
dreams in the entrance of the house
or in a tent
standing on the shoulder of the wind
squeezing the
groaning!
And I ask:
Are poems in
praise of the
Lady of the Four
Seasons worthwhile?
What merit is
there, O imperfect poets
when sorrow is
at the gates?
In the spacious,
spacious evening
On a wooden
bench overflowing with tears
And the night is
approaching in a costume of fog
The poet said to
his beautiful lover,
and what is
pleasing in nostalgia:
All things are
vanity and vanishing...
Come a little
closer to me
I am tired of
life and my marginal arrangements
How much I
regret the past and the present
and a future
that will never come back.
No fairy tale
life here
Reminds me of
the smell of the earth after the rain.
Are poems in
praise of death
and the basin
lined with the odor of the reservoirs
under the leaves
of the trees?
What good will
poems do us
from turning to
meaning or structure
that it is not
possible to be more eloquent than what has been.
To clarify the
differences between darkness and light!
On the waiting
track
Nothing
dissuades me from fantasizing
when the truth
is withheld
beyond the
questions of existence
and the
surrealism of the upper and lower world
Isn't the answer
the eloquence of speech
And all that I
write in the time to come
MOAEN SHALABIA
MOAEN SHALABIA: Born on 14 October 1958 in Maghar town - In the sea of Galilee region. One of the Arab Palestinian national minorities in Israel. Finished his studies at Haifa University. Poet and prose writer, his writing career began in 1973, he published his poems in national local newspapers and Arabic papers abroad. He published six poetry books and three prose. His first-born was the first book of poetry in 1989. He participated in many local and international festivals around the world. He was awarded by the "Arab intellectual's forum" – Jerusalem Al-Quds). Besides, he has received many appreciations certificates a member of the union of Arab writers and the movement of world poets (Poetas del Mundo), and a Member of Mahmoud Darwish Foundation for Creativity. His literary production was discussed and criticized in universities and many sessions in the homeland and abroad. Some of his poems were translated into many languages, like French, Turkish, English, Romanian, Polish, Macedonian, Italian, Hebrew, Bosnian, Albanian, Croatian, Russian, Portuguese, Serbian, and Bahasa Malaysia language. His collection of poems was included in the national and international anthologies. He won the prize of pest poetry at the international poetry festival / Tetova – Macedonia / Albania. He recently won the big prize of the "Arab Writers Union" for poetry.
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