حادثة اختفاء

لم يأتِ إنسانٌ إلى ذاك المكانِ سوى ليرْحلَ مُسرعًا
إلا فتاةً تشبهُ البحرَ الحزينَ أتَتْ ولم ترحَلْ..

هناكَ، على صخورٍ، حيث لا وقتٌ يمرُّ ولا تُغنِّي،
منذُ عامٍ وهْيَ تجلسُ، ألفَ عامٍ إن أرادتْ،
تقرأ الكتبَ القديمةَ ثمَّ تنتظرُ السعادةَ، لا سعادةَ سوف تكفيها..

بما أنَّ الهواءَ الآنَ كالطفل الشقيِّ، تعودُ حيثُ البرتقالُ
ومشمشُ الأعداءِ أيضًا.. تكتفي بالبرتقالِ.
على سَجِيَّتها.. فتاةٌ ذاتُ وجهٍ يرسمُ التاريخَ،
وجهٌ مثلَ نثرِ الشعرِ، كالبحرِ الحزينِ.
أتتْ لتكتُبَ أو لكي تتقمصَ البحرَ الحزينَ
فإنَّ ماضيها يعودُ ولا يعودُ كما يشاءُ،
وكل شيءٍ جائزٌ في بحرِ عينيها..
اختفتْ كي لا تعيشَ، فإنَّ مَرساها ومَهْربَها الوحيدُ خيالُها.

وكأنَّها والبحرُ شيءٌ واحدٌ، في عالمٍ ثانٍ
بلا مَرْسى ولا برِّ .. ولا حلٍّ بسيطٍ للتناقضْ ..

يوسف نايف، ه٢ سنة يعشق الشعر و يأمل أن يصبح شاعرا. يمكن التواصل مع يوسف هنا

Comments

  1. very nice… similar to this one wrote just a few months ago:

    Jaffa; a clockwork orange

    by michael hall

    I have a key to a home that has no door nor walls
    but i can still smell jaffa oranges sweet in the breeze down the hill
    over there stands a park where a village once stood
    so my grandmother told me one day, almost everyday

    Have you ever been to the sea
    i’ve never been there but my grandfather has
    it was warm and salty he says with moist eyes
    but for me the wet of the sea is not allowed

    Not too long ago we walked this land from water to water
    over the hills and down into the farms tending rows and rows of orchards
    some of the olive trees were thousands of years old
    before armored bulldozers came broke and razed them into piles of kindling

    Al Quds is a dream for all of us to see
    without roadblocks checkpoints and permits
    without smug smartass soldiers barking and pushing
    that day seems so far away

    What is ours we cannot build upon
    for illegal immigrants with an army tear it down
    yet they build what they want where they want
    with all the water filling their pools as our crops wither and die

    I walked with children in the southern Hebron hills
    on public dirt roads not bothering no one
    but then it rides roaring down from inside a fortress colony
    guns waving, curses launched from inside of beeping revving cars

    In the courts to be tried by foreigners in your land is surreal
    in a military court judged by bigotry what chance do you have
    someone somewhere somehow saw you throw a rock at a tank
    you must pay for scratching the paint

    Inside the stinking squalid cell in between your beatings
    the words of your grandparents echo in your heart
    you can almost smell the oranges on the limbs of Jaffa
    you can almost taste the salt of the sea….you endure as a freedom rider

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