سطو
بقلم: سمية جمعة
ترجمها إلى الإنجليزية عبد اللطيف غسري
بدون إنذار مسبق يفقد الأب،في ظروف غامضة
يسودها الترقب، التوجس الذهول المهيب،يبيضّ شعره فجأة كليل يبحث عن فجره، يتوه في وسط
زحام لا يعرف له سبيلا، كيف لا وهو البكر المدلل،الكل ينتظر له مستقبلا، يردم فيه نتوءات زمن كبرت فراغاته،ّ
لأول مرة يسمع صوت نواح خارج من أعماق أمه،و
لأول مرة يرى دموع جده،الذهول إله يطوق عليه،يجعله
نشيدا حزينا لأعين النساء المتلفحات بالسواد،صحراء هي روحه،و عنقاء هي أفكاره،حزن دامس
روحه المتطلعة للسمو،كوريقات خريفية ترميه
الريح على خد الأرض، فجأة يكتشف بأنه يملك
من الهذيان ما يجعله قادرا على تحمل كل
تلك التبعات،يهرب بأفكاره للبعيد وسط صحراء حارقة ،تنبت أحلامه يسقيها من نهر أفقا
تتسامى لتصل عنان السماء.
سلاحه عاطفة أمه التي رضعها مع الحليب،و
بشفافية أنوثتها أهدته روح شاعر بدوي ،أكسبته حب الطبيعة ،بين صخور تدمر و نخيلها،عاش
حلم البقاء ،عاش بداوة العشق،و بعاطفة مشبوبة تشرّب فكرة التأمل،هدوء غروب تدمر ،عزف
ناي في شراينه، غياب قرص الشمس بين الجبال، زرع ألف وردة لربيع دائم،بكل تقاسيم الحياة
البدوية تقلبت رئتاه على هوائها الجاف، و بين
سنابل الحنطة ألف قصيدة في كتاب الأمنيات،
كل يوم كان يهرب هناك باحثا عن ظل لأبيه،
يرحل نحو أنفاسه المقدسة ،و لا ينسى عتابات الجد التي تزكي روحه بحب المغامرة.
يمد يده إلى جيبه يخزه العوسج،و يكتشف بانه
البكر الذي ابتلته الحياة بمصائبها،فعليه أن يجمع الزيزفون كي ينشر الرطوبة في روحه،وحيد
بين أحزانه،ألف فكرة تنبئ عن نزيف في شريان وحدته،أمسى يكلم نفسه كحاد نسي عصاه،كسره
الوقت و ها هو يروم آخر نسغ من دوالي الحياة،يستجمع قواه التي خارت، فوضى تضج في رأسه،تتشابك
الأفكار،و لا سبيل لاستبيان حقيقتها.
يمضي إلى غابات القصب،و القصب ما عاد يخرج
بحة الناي من صدره،فجأة يسأل نفسه ماذا يريد؟
ماذا ينتظر؟
هل يريد جواز سفر لعيون تاهت وسط الظلمة،هل
يريد،صلاة في محراب عشق؟
ها هو مرة أخرى يبحث عن ظل لياسمينة محترقة
و أخيرا هو البدوي الذي رمته الصحراء في
حضن أفكارها.
سمية جمعة سورية
Hold-up
A short story by Soumaya Gomaa (Syria)
Translated from Arabic by ABDELLATIF RHESRI
Quite unexpectedly, his father went missing in mysterious circumstances characterized with anxiety, suspicion, and consternation. His
hair turned gray suddenly like a night looking for its own dawn. He got lost in
an endless crowd. It was normal, because he was the pampered elder son for whom
everybody expected a bright future through which all the empty phases of life
could be refilled.
For the first
time, he heard the sound of wailing coming out of his mother's depths. For the
first time, he saw his grandfather's tears. Consternation encircled him from
every direction, and made him a sorrowful ballad in the eyes of black-veiled
women. His soul was like a desert where his thoughts were like phoenix. There
was a dark sadness enveloping his sublimity-seeking soul, Like autumn leaves
blown by the wind on the Earth surface. Suddenly, he found out that he was so
delirious that he could bear all those consequences. He would run away with his
thoughts in a scorching desert. His dreams grew and he watered them to enable
them to vertically grow even taller and more sublime until they would reach the
edge of space.
His main
weapon was his mother's emotions that he had sucked along with her milk since
the day he had been born. Her transparent femininity granted him the spirit of
a bedouin poet. She made him acquire the love of nature, between Tadmur' rocks
and palm trees. He lived on the dream of survival and bedouin love. Thanks to
his flamboyant emotion, he was imbued with meditation. The quiet sunset in
Tadmur was a tune played by a flute in his veins. The Sun disk going down among
the mountains implanted a thousand roses of a permanent spring inside him. His
lungs imbibed the dry air that characterized the features of bedouin life, and
amid the wheat spikes he composed a thousand poems in the book of wishes.
Everyday, he
would escape there looking for a shadow of his late father, getting drifted
towards his holy breaths. He would never forget his grandfather's admonitions
that had rendered his soul fond of adventurousness.
He inserted
his hand into his pocket, feeling pricked by the bramble. He discovered that he
was the elder son whom life had put under the test of its calamities. So, he
had to collect lindens so as to spread moisture through his soul. He was lonely
and sad, with a thousand ideas that indicated the bleeding in the arteries.of
his loneliness. He began talking to himself like a camel chanter who had
forgotten his stick. He had been broken down with time, but there he was seeking
the sap of the last deltoid of life. He held together his weakened strengths.
There was a noisy turmoil going on in his head, where ideas got entangled and
there was no way to disentangle them.
He went to the reed jungle which no longer extracted the flute hoarseness from his chest. He wondered suddenly what he wanted and what he expected.
Did he want a passport to the eyes that had got lost in the darkness? Did he wish for prayer in the niche of love? There he was again looking for the shadow of a burned jasmine tree. Finally, he was a bedouin whom the desert had thrown into the bosom of its thoughts.
إرسال تعليق