شال لأمي .. هي الأرض — مصطفى الشليح — Saqi

هِيَ لَمْ ترحلْ
ولمْ تخلُ منَ العمر
She has not departed.
Nor have they been without life—
يداها
يقفُ الوقتُ
her two hands.
Time stands still,
فلا يمضي، ولا يأتي
كما الوقتُ
so it neither passes nor comes,
like time,
وللصَّوت
كما كان ليَ الصوتُ
and for the voice,
as the voice was mine,
نِداها، فضَّةُ الرَّنَّة: أمِّي
يشهقُ الفجرُ
her call, the chime's silver: my mother.
Dawn gasps.
يداها تفتحان الضَّوءَ
ما هذا نهارا
Her two hands open the light.
This is not day.
هِيَ أمِّي
تستردُّ الأرضَ شالا
She is my mother.
She reclaims the earth as a shawl
وانتظارا
منتهاها أبدُ اللحظةِ
and as waiting.
Her end is the moment's eternity,
تاريخا لقلبي
وبقلبي مبتداها
a history for my heart,
and in my heart is her beginning.
فكأنْ قلبي نَداها
ويداها لي
So it is as if my heart were her dew,
and her hands were for me—
أنا همَّ فناداها:
لأمِّي
me; it resolved, then called to her:
For my mother
ما بقولي، أبديّا،
هِيَ أمِّي؛
is what lies in my words, eternally:
she is my mother;
هِيَ لَمْ ترحلْ
فقطْ .. نائمةٌ أمِّي
she has not departed.
My mother is only sleeping.
فإلا توقظُوها؛
قبِّلوا، منِّي، يديها
So, if you do not wake her,
kiss her hands for me.
ثمَّ إلا توقظُوها
فيداها
Then, if you do not wake her,
then her hands
فضَّةُ الجنَّةِ
مبهورٌ صداها
are the silver of Paradise.
Her echo is dazzled
بمداها
هِيَ أمّي.
by her expanse.
She is my mother.
هِيَ لَمْ ترحلْ،
فقطْ .. نائِمةٌ أمِّي
She has not departed;
my mother is only sleeping.
عفوكمْ،
لا توقظُوها.
Pardon me,
do not wake her.