Politics
To a Suicide Bomber
M.A.R. Habib
You do not speak for me:
You who soak yourselves in blood
Are far from the prophet's mantle.
You who act beyond the Book
Are far from the Word.
You do not speak for me:
You who do not know, and kill,
Murder your own soul.
You blew up a young girl.
A mother's heart will bleed forever.
A father's will is broken.
Because of you their world is ended.
What good have you done?
Your own wife, young,
Curses you in her sleep, her nightmare.
Your children betrayed
To a myth; they do not know where you are,
Where you have gone; they still ask for you.
Your parents dragged
Through your empty dream.
Because of you their world is ended.
You have brought not paradise
But hell: hell to all around you.
What good have you done?
Because of you, I am reviled;
Because of you, your own people suffer;
Because of you
Oppression speaks louder.
Because of you, my religion reels in shame.
Because of you, two countries lie in ruins.
Because of you, a deserted nation suffers.
Because of you, the corrupt have grown stronger.
The bigots can speak without shame.
Because of you, the good people the world over
Have no name.
With each act of your violence,
Your enemies grow stronger, harsher
More justified in killing and conquest.
Each life you take weakens your cause, turns
An indifferent world against you.
You call yourselves holy warriors:
But you have never read the Holy Book
Never tried to understand
Never struggled with yourself.
You took the easy way:
And what will you say on the Day of Days?
What will you say to your Lord, to
Those you killed, to your family?
What good have you done?
It is not you who bear
The prophet's sword; the
True sword is a word, a thought, touched by light
Forged in wisdom and
Relentless in love.
It is not you who wear
The prophet's mantle but those who
Strive , armed not with bombs but with patience, with
A Book, high in words and deeds.
You do not speak for me
Or the sweetness of my God;
You do not speak for me.
A Poem for Neda
(Elections in Iran)
Neda.
Sweet voice,
Of freedom, unborn.
Your state totters.
A colour revolution.
Green, for life,
Of reason, faith;
Red for blood,
The price you paid.
And you have betrayed
Your colour, you
Whose voices rise
Above your people
Who cast your black sky
Over all voices;
Who hide behind
Arms and words;
Who cringe
Behind your flag.
Tears will find you out.
And you too, betray
Your colour, you who
Watch from afar,
In fear, who flirt
With freedom’s name;
Who smile unshamed
As tyrants old or new
Play your cards for you.
Tears will blind your smiles.
You who love
Your daughters, sons,
Let the green of earth be
Your colour:
Let your love give birth
To the Islam which your poets dreamed.
Let your voice, which sang
Before, of golden Persia,
In Sa’adi, Hafez, Rumi,
Now return, to sing
Our future.
Let your sweet voice
Sing from the cold earth
Of sweet democracy
Buried in its birth.
Dreaming to be
Born.
A Poem for Neda
French Translation by Sylvie Mochiri Miller
Neda
Douce voix
D’une liberté naissante
Ainsi couchée, tu nous promets
Une révolution toute en couleurs
Verte, pour la vie
Pour la raison, la foi
Rouge pour le sang
Pour le prix payé par toi.
Tu nous as déployé
Ta couleur, toi
Dont la voix s’élève
Au dessus de ton peuple
Qui te voile le ciel
Haut par dessus les voix
Qui s’abrite derrière des bâtons, des jets d’eau, des gaz lacrymogènes
Qui tremble de terreur derrière ton étendard.
Les larmes vous feront sortir de vos tanières
Et toi, fais ressortir de même ta couleur
Toi, qui pervertis le nom de toutes les libertés
Toi, qui souris sans honte
Tandis que des tyrans d’avant et d’aujourd’hui
Jouent tes cartes pour toi.
Toi qui aimes tes filles,
Toi qui aime tes fils
Fais que le vert du monde soit aussi ta couleur
Permets que ton amour engendre
Cet Islam dont rêvaient les poètes.
Toi qui chantais les ors de la Perse d’antan
Celle de Saadi, de Hafez, de Rumi
Laisse aujourd’hui ta voix chanter notre avenir
Laisse la, mélodieuse
Du fond de la terre froide
Nous chanter la douceur de la démocratie
Qui étouffée dans l’œuf
Ne rêve que de naître.
Fille, voix mélodieuse de l’Iran du progrès:
Neda