lonely tree of suffering is man,
Sad, naked, swimming in a naked air!
Oh Lord, if
I were a tree… a real tree,
Laughing, swimming, dreaming, and never saying: “Make
: Trees cannot be made.
Trees dream only.
rise on their own shoulders,
Drink from their own springs,
And dream their own immortalities…
: Trees are the immortality of trees.
Trees are immortality without memory.
is the cemetery of life,
A cemetery badly furnished,
Full of men, lifetimes, coffins,
Passageways, and… closed windows!
o Lord, save me in a cleansed memory.
Save me in the memory of a tree-heart.
Save me well and long
the salted water of your affection: oblivion.
you really believe in me, o God,
them—my loved ones—to burry me on the edge:
The edge of time… and the edge of space.
have an exalted craving to be immortal on an edge…
craving for a beautiful, affectionate, bountiful, and… white death.
The craving of a dead man:
white craving for death!
you really believe in me
Erase me for good, o God,
the leaves, the boughs, the trunk, and the brain…
the earth also: the house of death, the earth;
all these—and me—altogether,
spare me my root—the root of bountiful suffering,
Sparkling in its own darkness.
Carry on its stumbling journey in the air of light.
it dream of a fruit of light,
leaf of light,
a blast of light
Let it dream of light.
fruit is white,
bough is white,
trunk is white,
air, soil, water, blueness, and darkness also: all is white!
the son of “whiteness.”
many are my colors, sparkling, shining, and envied.
I am God’s rainbow…
The inexhaustible treasury of beauty.
I am the curlew’s dream.
me then, o God, a root,
Which hangs down, ascending
the air of white skies.
White… with all colors.
your son, pilgrim, denier, and the son of your affection,
The heir of your repentance, your martyr, and the
servant of your oblivion…
Make me then… …
door is lifted on a word;
of us, when passing across, bend…
of us say: “I weakened, suffered, despaired,
Endured, regretted, and my soul arched!”
the “word” thus remains:
High, upright, far-reaching…
alive (alive in the curlew’s delight…)
: The word is a goddess heard (heard but not listened
The word is the bond of our secret and plain blood,
… The never-severed bond of times.
are both a voice of light.
Make me then… …
me—if you will—what you will, in whatever manner.
may have regrets…
for me I have none.
“Whiteness: what is never regretted.”
your household, your table, your bread and wine,
Your endeavor, and the path of your truth…
do not fear the conspiracy of death.
You are immortal in what I see and dream of.
: Immortal in the whiteness of the curlew’s dream.
And I: my house wherein the curlews of my dawn chant,
Helping me in dream weaving.
table is a song, is air, and a white craving for whiteness…
is my endeavor.
have no truth:
“Truth is whiteness!”
white and… white.
as you made me, as I loved and craved.
The skin of my beast, my horns, my blood, the longing of my curlews, my hooves, molars, heart, flippers, guns, my enemies’ fear, my bewilderment, the black of my eyes, my bones, garment, the thirst of my tongue, the darkness that I project while arching to pass across the gate (I arch to pass…)
all, all white, and full of dreams of my whiteness…
I have no fear of being defiled.
: “Whiteness is real…”
… Here I am reaching the edge!
of 30-31 December 2001
Translated from Arabic by Dimitri Avghérinos