Bridge to Global Literature

Let’s all remember that more and more poetry gets lost without earnest attempts at translation.Read poetry here to get a glimpse of the rhythms and resonances of languages you don’t know.

For once I swore: poems with open signs – Dr. Bahet Belkacem

Apr 4, 2022 | Poetry | 0 comments

I love the love,

I love to be Loved

Lover’s anxiety on the sidewalk of longing

Longing for a handshake

electrostatic touch

A light touch in the mind

Violent mixing of the senses

The melting of space into time

I love the love

I love its seismic thunder

Body trembling, knees shaking

Sudden stomach cramps

accelerated blood circulation

And redness of the cheeks

!

A lover braids two stars and a waterwheel in the neck of a woman of basil,

waiting and many fruits

come in rivers

come up with secrets

He reads his fortune in two shrouds of dust:

Dementia town Ascending “to their death in two names”

South Ascendant Crafts “To Their Death in Two Names”

The letters are two Siamese mountains,

the letters are two heavenly mountains:

Love Southern lovers

The letter is a sentence in the hollow of the heart:

The first crying tears

Another crying poem

Its beginning I love the love,

__

You smile,

A blind man shivered in his soul, and he suddenly regained his sight.

Delightful your smile is like an autumn flower relieving the load of seasons

The trembling of the soul in the circumambulation of pilgrims

Like free music in the neighing of horses

And the fragrance of dirt in the paws of the wind

Oh sequel of the sky between two eyelids

O my shortcomings of my language, whenever I want to say

Femininity is like music,

a universal language that does not need translation,

but it is difficult to explain.

 

 

you smile until I fall asleep,

I fall asleep on your arms

reassuring electric

Or like a baby on its mother’s lap

Dreaming of roses and safety

Squeeze the memory grapes

Where did I meet you before this?

Now here

In the promised café

to an old table

sparkling cup

Crumpled white paper!

Fill your absence with a poem

With letters that made us wait

With words that you want to say, not just to be written

With a passing glance at a passing woman

Failed smoking experience

I will try again

__

For once I swore

I will quit love tomorrow, from that day tomorrow no longer comes

The earth is awash with the dreams of its children

a bloody wound

Alone among the planets

An orphan revolves around itself

And no one holds her hand

Take her to safety.

The morning laughs in your face like a children’s choir at the end of the lesson

Your voice is morning coffee and grandmothers candies,

The smiles of the optimistic sellers of a less miserable day,

Autumn drizzle on the heart and the joy of children with Christmas gifts.

Don’t panic even if your wounds multiply,

The land does not become more fertile without plowing.

And the grooves are dirt wounds

Your perfume drives me from rose to vein

In your absence I wear your perfume

Color the time and sing:

Your absence is an eternal void

A chasm in eternity that neither poetry nor singing can fill

My body is desolate and my soul is blind

May I smell a little in your shirt?

To see those around me

And the hateful veil of darkness has been removed

Your presence is full of light

I close my eyes to see you again,

hurt her cheek

her face blushes

I hurt her boobs

Fly from the chest cage swarm doves

I encircle her good with the ignorant pendants

I dance it on the goldsmith’s weights

Simpler for her resonant yellow feet in autumn leaves

I come to hold her with the gold of perished thrones

Her laugh is a royal crown

Her mouth is a wild flower

hovering bee

Her thoughts are free and fresh

The words roll from their mouths, a torrent of joy

Nobody else has anything to do with us

There is no power over love

This love is the master of itself

This love is the flag of independence

This love is victorious, even if the haters hate it

Do not wish ill to anyone

We do not rejoice in our sorrows.

__

Dr. Bahet Belkacem is a doctor by profession. Occasionally, he is a modern poetry writer who especially preserves the risk of language in a general sense, which may sometimes lead to the aesthetic ‘solitude.’ Here, he tries to write a familiar poem, but with open signs. His works have been published in Wingless Dreamer Anthology. His other interests include History.

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