Libido/appetite/desire is a crazy risk
Which leads to a clash/battle of ways/streets.

Flight/escape is a dance on the mist/fog
And movements [same word as title] on the feather of a dove that disappears [the feather not the dove].

The voice/sound of the sea, an accursed city
And the moon laughs mockingly
Water alone knows the secret of drowning
And the wave is excellent at [ie the master of] improvisation.

The streets /roads/ways are barefoot [not sure if I got that word right]
And the rain becomes
More savage/wild.

Chatter/prattle of all this time
As long as we do not extract it/eradicate it
From our blood.

Adrenaline invades us
When our feet are nailed
By a grain/seed of kind ??????
[I know this bit makes no sense, sorry!]

Are you able to undress/strip my palm
Without dropping a kiss
Or a bomb shining?
[Play on words- kiss and bomb are quite similar words]

Knock... Knock... Knock... [Or tap]
From now on there are no doors
To this city.

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Comments (3)

Fatena Alghorra

Dear Faris and Sophie, you have no idea what your words meant to me. I thank both of you from the bottom of my heart .

Faris Mughal

Can you unveil my palm
without a kiss
or a bomb?
iam also a poet but iam speechless after reading these three lines.


Beautiful. I love the complex sense of fragmentation and repetition, working together like musical variations (or, like the wave, “improvisations”)—but also bearing out the poem’s observations about the way in which desire can fragment us as individuals and cohere us in relation. It’s striking how this poem feels distinct from contemporary Anglo poetry in its form, its imagistic vocabulary and sensibility, and yet the translation conjures something quite conversational while at the same time rich in a distinct lyrical tradition.

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