Poem: And We Are Both Sad in Silence
Written by Farouk Gouida:
I will no longer accept your silence,
and I will not accept my own.
My life has been wasted at your feet,
I ponder over you… and listen to you,
yet you remain silent.
My ruins scream in your hands;
move your lips, speak that I might voice out.
I am still tongue-tied amidst the words;
it is shameful to live as a prisoner on these streets,
it is disgraceful to remain a statue,
with stones narrating what has passed.
I have worshiped you through ages,
united with your prayers,
and you became a sanctuary for the world.
Tell me, what does the silence of the dead convey?
What secrets dwell in your mind—tell me.
Ages have passed, kings have bowed,
thrones have toppled,
and I am imprisoned in your stillness.
Ruins of life echo on your face;
the same ruins upon your visage.
In this world, are there the dead or the living?
Yet, you are something I cannot grasp;
neither alive nor dead,
and we are equal in silence.
You declared your rebellion; I was unaware of the language of dissent.
For I am a human who is crushed by the oppression of humanity…
I see you in the past and present,
I see you as disbelief intertwined with faith.
I escape, yet you appear on my countenance;
I see the chains tearing me apart;
I see the judge and the jailer.
Speak so that I may speak.
Is it true that one day you sailed beyond the horizons,
and you began to roam the world,
venturing into the depths,
seeking the secret of the earth,
the secret of creation,
the secret of love,
the secret of tears and longing?
You recognized the secret yet remained silent.
What lies in your heart—tell me, what do you conceal?
Were you a king who tyrannized,
or a pious soul who went astray?
They slandered you openly,
they crucified you to remain a memory.
Tell me, who are you?
Let me delve into your thoughts.
Alas, I suffer from my silence, from your silence.
I will shatter your head so that you might speak;
I will assault your silence until I can articulate.
Your stones resonate softly,
and what escapes me falls into the depths,
and the tear in my heart ignites,
setting my eyes ablaze.
The police restrain me,
while the people scream: “This madman!”
I am unable to utter anything at all;
what shall I say?
What shall I say?
Poem: Struggling with Hope
Written by Farouk Gouida:
The nostalgia for you carries me back to childhood,
as time has robbed me of patience;
it casts a veil of wishes upon your chest,
and the heart aches alongside yearning.
I adorned the path with flowers of hope,
yet the passing years betrayed my expectations.
I surrendered the reins of time,
and lived a life full of complaints;
in your eyes, life was security,
but life vanished the day you departed from me.
Poem: When Friends Depart
Written by Farouk Gouida:
My footsteps have wandered off the path,
with no light, no life, no companion.
And the house… where is the home?!
It has become like a drowned hope.
The storms of time uproot my heart,
with deep, bleeding sorrow,
and my lips stutter as I say perhaps
I erred in the night’s course.
I hear the voice of night flowing in grief:
Your feet have broken away from the path.
My friends left, oh my friend from a bygone time;
oh night, you who gathered our essence onto your eyelids,
you who scattered the warmth of your gardens around us,
and carried the gentle breezes of spring
to dance among us.
Do you remember who I am?
I am the owner of the old house,
once I left behind your love that lived enchanted,
and I heard the voice of night flow in melancholy:
My friends departed, oh comrade of yesteryears;
I entered my house, years tightened around me,
and the scents of the past enveloped me.
The house recognizes my footsteps;
at the entrance of the mournful home, I saw all my tales.
The earth swallows the flowers,
and the blossoms of spring lie in their graves.
Remnants of fragrance or mere husks
over which insects scurry or loiter,
and whispers flow among them.
The dust gathered its companions around me and stared with arrogance:
“Did you come to destroy our house?”
I asked in astonishment: “Do you know who I am?”
I am the owner of the old house,
the dust rose up and spoke in anger:
“Something strange is what I see… what do you seek?”
“All those in the house know that I have become the new owner,
and upon the wall of silence, my portrait has dozed,
its features lost amid the days like my own tale;
and its tears flow like the past, narrating my story.
By the side of our seat, I saw a newspaper
with travel dates… and when the airplane returns…
and the tune of a song perhaps its ringing
still rushes on, then speeds
behind a wandering memory;
and I stopped its beats, and heard it:
(Oh Sleepless one, who dozes… remember the promise, and awakens…
and if a wound heals, the scar of remembrance does come.
You’ll learn how to forget and know how to erase.)
And on my bed, dreams died and ended… longing did too.
Oh my chamber, oh picture of mine,
oh all that I cherished in this existence;
oh my rose, you are the sweetest melody in the realm of flowers.
I am the owner of the old house!
Nothing speaks in this silence;
nothing knows who I am!
And I heard a voice that crushes the dreadful silence:
“You are the one who left the flowers
to die from the frost…
All who are in the house lived and still dream of spring…
All who are in the house died,
and all who are in the house died…”
And I rushed towards the voice, my steps reprimanding me,
to find my pen sleeping on the book,
and its confused blood wailing upon the ground,
it proceeded to speak to me with sorrow and depression:
“Why, my friend, have you abandoned our house
and left love to die amidst our grief?
Each day it asked: where is my mother? where has my father gone?
Do you see me—who am I? I still remember, oh companion, the hour of sorrowful yesterday.
I can’t believe your heart has tasted longing
or that you have felt nostalgia.
I never thought someone like you could betray
or that the shadow of love in your world would one day vanish.
I seized the pen that wept before me with madness:
“Let’s go, perhaps we can find a way.
Let’s go, perhaps we can find companionship.
What shall I say?! my steps have lost their way!”
Poem: My Sorrows Deceive Me
Written by Farouk Gouida:
My sorrows deceive me, oh heart,
I can no longer trust my sorrows.
It said: you will walk and leave me,
and I will return to my poetry, a bird;
with love, my spirit shall travel.
And the confused tear leaves me,
and the cruel time forgets me.
Love returns… it shelters me,
tending to dreams… taking care of me.
Yet sorrow chases me;
I have changed my address many times.
And the card of my travels has aged,
torn apart by the night of deprivation.
My sorrow knows me… it recognizes me;
how heavy is the sorrow of a human being.
How harsh to see a hope being born,
only to die from the despair of sorrows.
How hard it is to nurture a dream
from the breast of a volcano one day.
For fire pursues my dreams;
who will silence the voice of the flames?
Who will take from my sorrow a pledge
that it will leave my shores one day?
My sorrows deceive me, oh heart,
I can no longer trust my sorrows,
and I found there… my address.
Poem: When Days Separate Us
And I departed from you without a farewell,
folding between the fog of my days old tales,
a melody that melted over time or a futile complaint.
And I left behind days of loss,
that tore at me, with no friend to hold me,
alone there, the deep wound pulls at me.
Oh my heart, I lost my life, burnt by wounds,
and you dreamed every day… of the morning,
so let my days disappear with time,
one day into sorrow, and the next… into wounds.
- * *
And I departed from you without a farewell;
how I dreamt, oh my companion, of the evening;
how I wove a tale of lovers longing for a meeting…
or a whisper that flows deep within, like light,
or the trembling of hands embraced tenderly in the sky;
or an appointment to forget my sorrows,
or a smile that shakes my being,
or a tear at farewell that I blame.
Tomorrow would present us the second meeting.
- * *
And I saw your love choking in my heart,
falling as the stars do and burning away;
and I saw my dreams lost amidst the complaints,
the youth of my days dissolving in the frost;
I have spent my life waiting for spring.
- * *
And I departed from you without a farewell,
forgetting dreams that vanished like light,
an ancient love that lost its way in the fog,
a hope that faded in the nights,
or scattered down the road,
a life shattered in suffering,
until youth
was lost and the era of youth concluded.
Do you think here the reproaching will help? Never! Let go of the reproach…
- * *
Now I depart from you with a wounded hope;
perhaps I may be free from anguish, perhaps I may find peace;
for I lived dreaming, oh companion, of light;
and I saw my dreams vanish in the void;
I ended this love deep within,
and I forgot after you the longing ache,
and turned my days fragrant with his magic
to become poetry in the visions of lovers!