Doctor warned, “Your liver will strangle –
If you do not stop this habit”.
“That flower fell off long ago”
“I might lose you if you hang on with this habit”
“I already lost myself” I declared.
Next turn was my friend who is a story writer.
“I can’t see you as a character who smokes”
“You better do not have this protagonist in your tale”
She whispered, “Your lips have become black”
I announced, “Not even a kiss with fag smell is available”
“Why are you deteriorating yourself” inquiry from Jinu.
“Just because, I don’t know how to spoil others”. My answer.
“K S R T C buses which arrived late taught me smoking”
A stranger said.
“I lighted a cigarette for the initial time, just for some light”.
My response with realization.
“They shout that you are a chain smoker”
My sister’s version.
“There will be no smoke without fire”
A board in the hospital was engraved.
“No smoking here”.
“Everything else is allowed?
“God will not pardon suicidal behavior”.
That was from Parish Priest.
I could say this much.
“Clouds are created from God’s cigar”
In this night filled with solitude,
God, let me have a fag which has soul and
Let me reach out to clouds.
Translation : Aju Abraham
(painting: Pablo picasso)
When Arab adolescence strikes football
In the fenced ground of the Corniche Park
A Sudanese guy who sits on the nearby stone bench
Feels the thrill on his legs
For the one who knows to strike a goal
The biggest hunger is to strike the ball
And me? I don't' have a name
When the fisherman swims away
Loosing his boat and net in the flood
And faces a group of huge sharks
He gets a chill on his spine
When one of the cutest babies
Among the nursery kids cries loudly
Milk oozes from the nun's breast
Crawls on a camel
In the desert
I don't want anything else
Only the ball and opponents
Let thousands or millions come
Let the goal post be miles away
I don't want anything else
Once, on the tenth floor
While carrying the cement bag
One moment, just for a moment,
The sun tempted like a big ball
While surging ahead with the ball
In the sky ground
The blow came unexpected
Its mark is still on the back
There are balls, which can be tackled by anybody
No, not all the movements forward
End up in goals
And there are no games without fouls
Even in dreams
In the ground in front now
No Arab children are left
Only ball, ball, ball
It moves on its own
This side and that side
Runs out of the ground
Surges to the goal post
Sometimes hides somewhere
In pure solitude
And very secretly
The ball looks at me and smiles
A throb of the destiny
On the fingers of the legs
When the ground became
Empty of balls and legs
Two legs began to dance
Between the evening and night
Translation:: Ismail Meladi