Washed by waves under a dormant sun.
I am like an unleashed soul,
Crossing the savage dunes of time, where the grape harvests of
The cursed spirit
Propels against the race of the ogres .
I am like a knowing soul
Troubled by a stagnant anxiety
Resuscitating the victorious revolt of my sufferance.
I am like a perfidious soul ,
betrayed by the old age of the impotent time
in front of your mystic gaze,
I extinguished my reticent furore,
Drowned myself in the emptiness of London .
When will the torch of grace shed light
On my mountains of doubt?
Someone said to me : calm yourself !
But how do I calm down ?
Forget the pains inflicted by the delusion?
Forget the ill-fated sufferance?
The taciturn and melancholic emotion
In front of entombed human condition.
I suffered so much in those faded days,
Since long time,
I was alone to sow the seeds of confusion
Between French mutism ( silence )
English eloquence
And Arabic rhetoric
Although the verses emanated from my writing
And the erratic structures were to be ruthlessly censored
In chasing the intrepid battle of the London fog ,
Which has defaced the eternal sky,
I remember the atrocity of the hazardous seas
Where foam of my life was washed away by the angry waves.
Incarcerated between two virgin stars
The forbidden fruit to foreigners
Sank deep into this muddy world.
Rain or snow covering my immense sky.
I came to offer you my odyssey ,
I came to sing you my rhapsody.
As an innocent prey,
I was blinded by a condemned love.
Who are you, day of enslaved solitude?
Who sent you to me?
You, the deaf mute, have you reached the age of reasoning
For understanding the rhythm of the silence?
Whereas to me , I am accustomed to the shackled thirst ,
Where lugubrious autumn of quivering and withered leaves
Rendered me vague satisfaction.
Here I am , an immigrant against my will,
Dissipated in this impregnable citadel,
My anguished itinerary
Like a stray cat under a twinkling star
Dancing to the rhythm of the dawn of a No-Man’s Land.
Immortal glory to the living thinkers of a locked Utopia,
Who are dying under the gag of the bestial justice
And under the deceiving eyes of a glinding vulture.
Glory to the sanguine spirits,
Glory to the mordant lips without rancour,
Glory to the feelings buried in this eternal infinity.
Immigrants of all nations, unleash your reins,
But do not turn back the bridles.
All these years , I shared with you the fruit
Of my sorrow and my humble offering.