Live Encounters Poetry & Writing February 2026.
Longing, poems by Fawzia Alawi Alawi.
Translated from Arabic by Dr. Salwa Gouda.
Longing
Oh, bird of longing, we are parched.
Oh tremor of the soul, tell him:
We have fallen in love.
Oh, interpreters of speech, come to our aid
We have grown mute from too much desire.
Oh masters of verse, recite a poem for us,
For when you fall silent, we lose our way.
Were it not for words that soothe the lover’s wound,
We would have lived our days and died.
Pride
Do not squeeze love from anyone.
Do not leave your buckets to the wind.
A sudden rain-cloud may surprise you,
filling the cups of your heart
till water spills onto sidewalks and balconies
and passersby’s shoes are soaked
they will stare at your wild-growing face,
at the iris blooming above your brows.
Do not scatter seeds for the sensitive.
She alone
searches for your hidden bud
in the whispers of the sap,
waits till it emerges,
then comes in flocks, circling it
like lovers in devotion.
Do not wait for anyone.
Waiting is for trains and planes
and bank balances,
for news bulletins stained
with children’s eyes and women’s breasts
and party statements
inked in restrooms.
Longing comes stealthily,
mixed-blooded,
with feet of cotton and a sheet of dawn,
a mane the weary moon has combed.
Longing does not knock.
It does not ask permission.
It has no passport, no stamps.
You rise on a chilly morning,
find it there in the neglected corner
sipping a perfumed brew,
reminding you of a tree whose name you’ve forgotten
but know like your mother’s face.
It smokes a pipe of chance
your heart leaps, your ribs tremble.
It signals to you with smiles
too vast for books of poetry.
You walk toward it without feet,
sit in its presence, awed,
as if before an illuminated saint.
“Welcome”—your lips do not say it.
The sparrows on your balcony say it,
and the raindrops.
Estrangement
We were not companions,
nor a flash of lightning in your galaxy.
We were not two clouds fighting over
who would water the wheat,
who would feast the heart of the pomegranate flower.
We were not travelers racing for fortune,
nor a shell abandoned by the train.
We were not two roses thrown by chance and passion,
nor a snowflake melting on the cheek at dawn.
We were two dreams crossing in a doze,
two extinguished stars
traveling through daylight.
© Fawzia Alawi Alawi
Dr Salwa Gouda is an accomplished Egyptian literary translator, critic, and academic affiliated with the English Language and Literature Department at Ain Shams University. Holding a PhD in English literature and criticism, Dr. Gouda pursued her education at both Ain Shams University and California State University, San Bernardino. She has authored several academic works, including Lectures in English Poetry and Introduction to Modern Literary Criticism, among others. Dr. Gouda also played a significant role in translating The Arab Encyclopedia for Pioneers, a comprehensive project featuring poets, philosophers, historians, and literary figures, conducted under the auspices of UNESCO. Recently, her poetry translations have been featured in a poetry anthology published by Alien Buddha Press in Arizona, USA. Her work has also appeared in numerous international literary magazines, further solidifying her contributions to the field of literary translation and criticism.
Fawzia Alawi Alawi is a Tunisian poet, novelist and essayist who has published nine poetry and short story collections, in addition to a novel entitled “Faces for One Woman” (2020). She also won several national and regional awards.