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By Yusra Al-Ayoubi

Nostalgic Poems

Give Me Another Day


The Black Moon

The happiness of Woman

The Martyr

The Map of The Upright Way

The Rape of Amytis

The Anger of the Rock

The Coming Time

The Liberator

The Merchants of Tadmur

The Flags of Pirates

The Silent Devil

The Heavy Inheritance

The Copper Idol

Piece After Piece

The Snow Puppet

The Soothsayers

The Spirit of the Age

Soldiers and Liberators

Why Nebuchad Nezzar!


You two lovers who rival

Over my love and death

Both of you are the wings

Of a dying bird

I penetrate from your pores into your cells

Said the elements of degradation

I destroy your resistance and immunity

Therefore I 'm the new body

The exhausting body answered

No, you will die with  me!

Or conclude a truce with your enemy

The coming time is pecking

Inside me its hard shell

It is my only love, it's the new body

Illness is not its father

Nor its mother the dying bird

Not a swan did ever whisper

It  in  my  ear

The son of nature

The son of Man

Never ashamed to be a sperm

Or to dream the dreams of placenta

Never feared the suffering of  birth-time

Don't ask me what is the colour of its eyes

What is it, what is its name

I didn't give it a name yet

Neither I know the colour of its eyes

I didn't embrace it yet

To my longing breast

Nor gave it  the nipple to suck

But I feel it so heavy

I feel its extremities

Knocking my sides

While swimming in my womb

Searching for a light

The wind heard of it and said:

I am the midwife, and warned me

Deliver it piece by piece

Hide it every limb apart

That your lovers will know

Nothing about its existence

Then mourn it

As did Isis

When gathering the limbs of Osiris

To blow in them life

I want it to be whole

My baby, my love

I shall never surrender

Even a hair or a nail-cutting.

All of them want to efface it

To dispatch it, to liquidate

To strangle it before its date

Not permitted its life to fight

Not permitted to see the light

Imposters are these doctors

Swindlers, trick makers

Surrounding me,

Their breath is suffocating

Their hands are impure

Knives glimmer, lancers

Forceps,  glass balls

Snowy shrouds

And at the door's waiting

A burial car, flower wreathes and music bands

All these preparations for the coming time!

I heard a whisper

We have dug a hole

Wide and deep the hole.

Go away, all of you, sons of grave!

I have cut my relations with you

Even if you threaten with star war

My child,  the baby of coming time

Will come to life,  perfect, alive.

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