The Voice?

Our throats sharpen
towards morning
but night approaches
      digging the foundations of the house
             and the wall of minutes
             that surrounds the house

Death is honoured
by time stretched out
until everything past has been forgotten
other than the leaves that dried
on the tree, that tremble, now and then

   Who would have heard the voice?
   As if there were a person in heaven
to pay for our blood that was poured
      and poured out

Translation notes

Another complex and suggestive poem by Alamin Mazrui, whose simple language holds great depths of thought and feeling.

We decided to retain 'sharpen' from the first line of Katriina's translation because it kept the ambiguity of sharpen as in the pitch being raised and for its (hidden) suggestion of execution.

The poem appears to be referring to two different kinds of time: one an ancient, ancestral time (in the second verse) that's placed against the menace and destruction of the 'walls of minutes' in the first.

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