It is the Soul that is Withering
Abdulkhalik Kitan
Translated by:Khaloud Almuttalibi
It does not matter that I am living in a blaze
For I am a descendent of the Greek tragedy
Hungry, I leave my bed
I set out to do my sad exercise
Only to come back late at night
To sip a little wine
Another solitary hour
As I think about fate
How do we make our own fate
And how does fate make us
Nothing changes around me
I know for certain that I am the offspring of the Greek tragedy
When the heroes go to their death
As if nothing had happened
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There is no end to this story
The years are multiplying when I thought
They were only mere days
A passing whim, quickly replaced by another
The tyrants also think in the same way
The Iraqi thought his war would last for days
Life passes by and the war is still raging on
Am I unconsciously being a dictator?
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Tired of prayers,
Making vows
And of festivals of hope
I see myself growing old with no end to the story
I runaway amid the places
And also through time
I have lost what is irretrievable
Yet My trust lies with a single exorcism
That is rooted in the waves; a tower of garnets
Which carries it away
Too far away
With no hope of coming back
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So the scene then is repeated
I know that repetition destroys the drama
It heightens boredom and disgust
I wrote
And wrote
It is the soul that is withering
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Adelaide
16.10.2006
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