The Three Eras for a dream

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(The Three Eras for a dream)
Poem and Artworks By: Mohammad Bin Lamin.
Translated from Arabic by: Solara Sabah.
Misurata - Libya

Submitted: August 09, 2012

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Submitted: August 09, 2012



The Three Eras for a dream

Poem By: Mohammad Bin Lamin
Translated from Arabic by: Solara Sabah



1. The Amulet Time

His blue Amulet did not save him from the act of the sea,
neither did the white one. 

They did not soothed him from the flares of 
the land.

They did not stop the temptation of the waves
and the curse of whiteness or cured him from the sun’s ailments.

He was saved by the worries of the mothers who were 
lingering near the oven to steal from it the mercy of the bread.
Or maybe he was saved by the mother’s supplications in the half darkness
behind the spindle of the wool's mats,
praying to God to safeguard him
from the Beasts of the darkness,
the evil eyes, and the ferocity of the envy.



2. The Solitude Time


And you're a very obdurate!
You have never been bind by phylactery or by Fakih’s mantra
you saved your steps
for the mint fragrance road and the accompaniment clouds.
Holding back your right hand 
to greet the person of your dream,
To embrace the surface of the water,
Promising your heart to meet the spring and the temptation of the daffodils, 

Rolling your eyes inside,
Laughing and crying.
Lighting the daytime by the sun,
Dripping the stars in the night,
and dangling from the moon!

Obstinately in love.
Your dream has taken by your pride 
Descending into the illusion that one day it will come
with a dark eyes
elegant and tall
with a small bird
hovering on the head. 
Dancing and asking for the mercy.
The dance of the slaughterous 
The mercy of the dust,
A resurgence of desperate love! 



3. The Exudes Time

Hold on tight to your luggage! 
You have to endorse your travel,
the nudge of the stations,
The noisiness of the railroads crossings; 
and the dreariness of the passages and the tunnels.

Flying and sailing.
Mingling with foreign seaports, 
The dead dreams and the glasses of wanderers wine.

Dancers floating in the drum of the water.
The first lament for the homeland
lurking from under the feet.

Where ever you go the land looks the same.
Strange as it should be, 
You will never be familiar with this existing world.

you will be welcomed by the uncertainty of the empty rooms, 
the shared houses,
the dispirited parks 
And the ugly elderly women
The owners of the homes who will prohibited you from being late at night.

Just be as you are
lost between the distractions of the eyes and the lust of the dreams. 

poor fellow as in the prayer.
Knight at the wedding extravaganza.
Taken by different visions,
and the fluctuated news.

Slaughtered by friends knifes
and deceived by the wooden rifles 
How will you enjoy the night
As they do each day?
And how the moon complains of its nostalgia for the beautiful face?

You are doomed! 
consumed by the time
as a coffee drunk in a hurry .
Blown by the wind as a nuisance Southern dust, 
that will never whisk off by the country broom

Wake up and go on! 

Your cold hands and these doors cannot endure the knocking,
neither the ceiling and the walls,

Forsake this dream of yours 
and leave as those who left before you,
No need for the blame
Just wait with patience and eternal gaze.



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