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14th Anniversary Edition, Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume Seven Nov-Dec 2023.
In a small house, poems by Azmi Abdel Wahab.
In a small house
In this small house
We opened the doors to singing
We left a tree looking out the windows
We wiped the tiles well
We rearranged the clothes in the closet
We washed the shade plant with water
And we removed the cobwebs
In the dark corners
We sat the sun at the table
She was happy
We told her about death
In a small house
In a distant country
So, she cried
The air was fresh
And the sheets are clean
And a scanty moon illuminates faces
We slept soundly
It is as if we have not tried sleeping for once
And in the morning, we woke up
Blood on our palms
And the smell of rot in our bodies
Where did all these bodies come from
To occupy rooms crowded with life
And leave us out in the void
No home for us!
Waiting for the angels…
there is nothing to do!
I traveled the road alone
Like one of the boys sleeping in the streets
At the end of the night
I was as light as the wind
When I receive my body
(My mother buried it
In the open space in front of our house
Before I learned to walk
on my fingertips)
And as someone who is not distracted by the flowers of friends
Which they will implant in my chest tomorrow
I smiled
When I take one last look
On white paper
(I could not write a single reason
That makes traitors proud of knowledge)
And calmly and with confidence
I hanged my old corpse
Next to the room lamp
Minutes…then my head fell
I laughed at an unfinished message:
(I will be an employee, father, and I will not take the bus
Until it stops completely, I almost died one day, down
His wheels, Dad, do you know?! I am over thirty
Alone in a cold room, without a wife to wipe off
My forehead sweat during a sudden illness. Reassure my mother Father.
I do not spy on the women of the city, nor do I tell
Good morning to a woman who took her husband to prison
I am sad, father. I did not write a single poem since
Six months ago, I was afraid, so ask death
To wait, until I laugh even once
my father)
I burned everything that would give them a reason
That makes them start talking about me
With (he was…………………)
My body is next to the ceiling light
Thirty years ago
Why did they come together suddenly
With less unfair justice
From the café boy
Who left my coffee until it got cold
Without warning me
Or gives me the opportunity to change it to another one?
I will see them clearly
When they descend my old body with a majesty that befits me
So that I can be beautiful
When I meet loved ones
Who could not bear the obscenity of their bodies
So, they went there
For angels who sweeten their hair
And warm their limbs
To let green wings grow in its place
I hung my body against the wall
Waiting for the angels of torment
They were too late
I enjoyed taking out the women I knew
(They keep the windows lit dimly
And they feel their uprooted organs
Preparing for husbands
That trains do not carry them
So, they accept men
Who return their organs
That stiffened from the cold and waiting)
Waiting for the angels…
there is nothing to do!
I am fed up with them
They repeat boring situations
And uglier
So, I put them back in my head
And I worked all night
With waterwheels which suffer from loneliness like me
And with rivers flowing towards eternity
Without killing herself
And with friends who did not achieve what the Lord promised them
Then, they cried
Until the weeds grew
Between their stone feet
Waiting for the angels
There is nothing to do
I will have a chance
To search for many foolish things, I committed
Or remember friends who abandoned me
So, I leaned on my wooden legs
Passing
Empty beer bottles
And the women who left me for them
Standing
Under my shirt collar
Drying up my sweat
The angels have not come yet
And the city shut down its shops
Should I go back to my house?!
I had no home to return to
And close it on my fatigue
I had no one
I never had a kitten
Waiting for me to come back
And keep wiping me
While eating my poor food
I should have a place to return to
Am I tired?!
It looks like I will be waiting a long time here
Until the angels come
If only God would send other angels
Who know exactly my disappointment
To discover my worthlessness
And to believe that I said a great deal
About traitorous rulers
And I waited long enough
Before I turn into an upside-down shoe
In my father’s face!!
© Azmi Abdel Wahab
Azmi Abdel Wahab is an Egyptian poet and journalist. He published eight collections of poetry, and his poems were issued in most Egyptian and Arab periodicals and newspapers. Moreover, his poetry is translated into more than one language, including English, French, and Persian. He, also, participated in many poetry conferences in the Arab world and won several awards from Egyptian cultural institutions.