Poem by Maryam Al Naqbi
My mood today calls for a poem,
But I am nowhere near poems at all.
The world surrounds me, yet I am alone…!
And I fear this silence will become a habit.
Between what I desire and what I do not want,
And a wound that has found no medicine nor bandages.
I want to write — even one useful sentence —
But there is neither poem nor benefit in me.
Since my dream died on its feast day,
Who shall I congratulate, who shall I wish well…?!
Why should I write, when poetry has lost its newness?
Nothing new but grief — and grief is cunning.
Joy's stations have grown far away,
And yesterday's memories are kindling inside my chest.
I recall the past of yesterday and relive it,
Memories inscribed amid the witnesses.
O, may God water those happy days,
When we lived in bliss and plenty.
And as for new poetry — I have no poem,
For I was never near poems to begin with.