Live Encounters Arab Women Poets & Writers June 2026
Solo, poems Rim Gomri.
Translated from Arabic by Dr. Salwa Gouda.
Solo
I open doors I never close,
heavy with memories,
and the roads are crooked.
I leap across cliffs,
then tumble like a ball of cloth.
I searched for that hidden voice
that disturbed my sleep
and made me play the part of a weary prophet.
When I crawled out from under the rubble,
after the earthquake that leveled the city,
I looked for the old sage
the one we once visited together.
I lit the incense and the candles,
tuned my voice for singing,
something like a prayer.
But the sage left us alone
to face the road.
I slept under an almond tree
and dreamed you smashed the glass
against my dry lips
and my thirst only grew.
I walked the salt path,
searching for the sea,
while you watched over me from afar,
in silence.
Behind me, I left
our shadows dancing the tango.
I climb mountains,
cross deserts,
crawl like a snake
but you are a hunter who’s lost the taste for killing,
who amuses himself watching the sunset,
and sees the world through the eye of a needle.
Since then, I’ve been playing solo
a piece that begins with I love you
and ends with I loved you.
Lament
The streets and the sidewalks are mine.
All my small things are mine.
I have broken free from the hobble of waiting.
My voice
my body
the pallor of the moon on my face
all mine, and mine alone.
I have no partner
except my heart.
Nothing with me
and yet, everything with me.
My voice is the cry of womanhood
in its eternal desire.
Every tattoo on my body
not one has fallen off.
My most secret moles are still here.
And nothing calls me but the road.
On the edge of morning,
I laugh a lot
at every passing face
so that the cloud of tears
hovering over my soul
does not soak me through.
Rising toward my dream,
I do not bow my heart’s neck.
Like water, I plant life wherever I pass.
Rising, I carry my wound under my arm.
My pain has ripened.
Sprinkle salt over it.
My body has a memory that does not forget.
I come late,
like seasonal winds.
Inside me, I carry the seeds of my own extinction.
I sing to the harvesters,
the shepherds,
the farmers
songs they hide in time’s clay jars
for the cold winter nights.
I come like an idea of love
that broke the backs of lovers
and still they never repented the first sin.
My voice is the wind.
My home is the storm.
Everyone I ever loved left me their burdens.
I carry them like crosses on the shoulder of my days.
Everyone who loved me chose their own hearts,
then left me.
I always come late
like life on the brink of death.
I smashed the jars of waiting.
I explored the depths of my body.
I memorized its weaknesses and its strengths.
I hung my amulets in the river of my blood.
I tattooed the names of everyone who failed me
above the wrist of my heart,
and I said: Today,
there is no one to save me from myself
except me.
© Rim Gomri
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.
Rim Gomri is a Tunisian poet, short story writer, author, and media professional. She studied journalism and media. She has published three poetry collections: Women Are Waiting (2013), On My Body, My Amulets Are Tattooed (2016), and What the Dream Didn’t Say (2018). She also released a short story collection titled Another Life for a Past Age (2021). She is currently working on a short story series and a novel, and her fourth poetry collection is currently in press and will be published soon. She writes literary and cultural articles in Tunisian and Arab periodicals.