The Absent Painting

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Today we read from Beauty Bathing in the River by Farooq Shooshah, an Egyptian poet.

The Absent Painting by Farooq Shooshah

We can, in the absence of land,
Imagine a map,
And borders,
Then fill the borders with points,
So that the points grow into circles,
With a homeland therefrom emerging
And faces, wherein absence is nesting!
We shall live in them,
Move among the geographical features
And try to recover
That which is still far away,
Cast a look at the impossible horizon,
There!
There’s no sound for the map to utter
There!
There is no colour
To leap among the circles,
No green,
No sand
Or water!
There!
Only the colour of blood,
And an elusive mirage!
But then we have the dream,
And we dream that
Here are home and byre,
A gate and bower!
And here is Palestinian thyme,
The vine and sweet odour!
An olive-tree waiting alone in patience
For the sad autumn
And the acrid winter,
The cellars of fire
And the slaughter!
Then,
Gradually,
They all vanish—the shades,
And the distance!
But here are our fingers,
Still holding the absent painting
And drawing lines
In a map in the clouds
Feelings moist with the tears
Rising from the heart!
We make a search
Among the points,
The circles
The lines
And crossing points,
And feel about to cry
When silence prevails within,
But we
Never
Die!