Saturday, April 20, 2013

Translations: Do Not Reconcile by Amal Dunqul

Do not reconcile!
Even if they offered you gold!
Suppose I exsect your eyes
then in their place fix two jewels…
do you see?
They are un-buyable things.
Childhood memories between your brother and yourself.
Your (both) sense – suddenly – of manhood,
this modesty which suppresses yearn when you embrace him,
the silence – smiling – to reprimand your mother,
as if you are,
still two children.
That eternal tranquility between you,
that two swords: your sword,
two voices: your voice,
that if you died:
there is a master for the house,
and a father for the child.
Does my blood become – in your eyes – water?
Do you forget my bloodstained attire;
wear – over my blood – clothes embroidered with threads (of gold/silver)?!
It is war!
It may heavy the heart...
but behind you is the shame of the Arabs!
Do not reconcile,
nor mean escape!

Do not reconcile on blood even with blood!
Do not reconcile even if it is said a head for a head!
Are all heads equal?
Is the heart of a stranger like the heart of your brother?!
Are his eyes your brother's eyes?!
Does a hand, whose sword was yours, equal
a hand whose sword lost you a beloved?
They will say:
“We came to you to stop the bloodshed…
We came. Be – O Emir – the Wiseman”
They will say:
“Here we are, cousins.”
Tell them they did not take into account the kinship with those who perished,
and plant the sword in the forehead of the desert,
until the abyss answers.
I was to you
a knight,
a brother,
a father,
and a king.

Do not reconcile,
even if they crowned you Emir.
How do you step on the body of your father's son?
How do you become the sovereign?
On the faces of fake cheerfulness?
How do you look in the palms of those who shook your hand,
and not see blood,
in each palm?
If an arrow hit me from the back,
it will hit you from a thousand backs.
For blood – now – has become a badge and an emblem.
Do not reconcile,
even if they crowned you Emir.
Your throne: a sword,
your sword: a fake,
if you did not weigh – against a forelock('s weight) – the moments of dignity,
and get cured from luxury.

Do not reconcile,
even if the tribe beseeched you,
by the sorrow of “the exalted”,
to utilize the rationality,
and show – to those who mean it for you – acceptance.
They will say:
Here you ask a prolonged vengeance,
so take – now – what you can:
a little of the Right,
in these few years.
It is not your vengeance alone,
but a vengeance of generation after generation.
And tomorrow,
he will be born who will don the full armor,
start the complete fire,
generate the Right,
from the ribs of the impossible.
Do not reconcile,
even if it was said that reconciliation is a ploy,
It is vengeance,
its flame fades in the ribs,
if it is passed by a succession of seasons,
then the hand of shame stays drawn (with its five fingers),
on the humiliated foreheads!

Do not reconcile,
even if all the sheikhs stood against your sword,
and the men full of cracks.
Those whose turbans covered their eyes,
and their Arabian swords forgot the years of glory.
Do not reconcile,
for it is not just that you want,
you are this age’s only knight,
and other than you… monsters!

Do not reconcile,
do not reconcile.

NOTE: There are 10 parts to the poem; only the most popular ones were translated.

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