Aleppo Lives in My Songs
By: Dr Jawaz Jaffri
Translated by: Sarah Ali Khan
Carrying my little nest-egg on the head,
I left the smouldering city,
I haven't bargained life for my conscience.
Behind my home,
Where there Euphartes once gurgled,
Is only a handful of sand.
Pulsates in my songs,
And I love it more than the toppled roof of my house.
My children need breaths more than food,
But they have seized them,
So to keep alive,
My children read the verses of Pablo Neruda,
Because the wholesome air of Chile's woods,
Blows through those poems.
O you pellucid body of lemon skin,
I will write you down,
Along with Kafka's fiction,
Upon leaves of memory,
The image of my heaven,
Which I inscribed on that golden bosom,
Has vanished last night,
They've come to steal my dreams.
After that woman left,
I learnt to stay green from plants,
And to love from birds,
Gave me birth.
My last consummation,
Is with this dust,
I'm a mere organ,
In the cosmological orchestra.