The day I won the Gibran International Prize 1987
-1-
Gibran... O Gibran, why are you silent?
While idle chatter numbs the ears
And the land is being slaughtered by depravity,
As if it intoxicates its followers
With the blood of innocence
No master remains among us in his livelihood
Our peasant has abandoned the vineyards...
And sold them.
The rabble has defiled the letter...
So, you will not see a letter like yours,
Shining and radiant
-2-
Gibran... If you do not give me
From His radiance a radiance,
So, the lights will never grow accustomed to me
This ambassador,
The protector of the people, beware
"Latif Abu Alhusn" is overflowing with gentleness
So, look at him, seated in majesty
All kingdoms crumble before him
He is our pride, our beloved,
And our ambassador
If his hand shines, the day awakens
-3-
"Attar... Samar" Writing alone
Shows its pride if eternity reads a book
For it is the sister,
Even if I am deprived O sister,
Motherhood pours forth fragrances,
She is the noble one, even when ego is high,
She is the honourable one, captivating hearts,
And thought, after you, is weary in its journey,
If not for the ink of her literature,
-4-
"Niman Harb," the Hatemi, in love,
And brilliance, affection, and struggle,
He has gone to gather
From the fields of our letters,
Wheat to pollinate minds with harvests,
The blackness of the eyes has slept Tomorrow
Its lights brought us "Anjelle aoun"
That literary woman in our exile,
When she spoke... hearts spread the words
-5-
Poetry... unless embraced by bonds
Became a writer for the leader
And its thoughts became confused and clashed
And they climbed it for ambitions and positions
For poetry, since the beginning,
Is a revolution of a nation
That came to ignite demands in souls
And poetry, what is in poetry of Immortal,
Unless tyrants kill his talents.
-6-
No… I do not covet prizes, for in competition
They are but temptation and vanity.
And I embraced you
The day my ear of corn sprouted leaves,
And vows matured in Orpheus.
All this fragrance is not from our flowers,
Nor even the lights and incense.
The path is yours…
If you examine the footsteps,
We were walking in the footsteps of the Prophet.
-7-
Believe, O Gibran: Every poet
Regurgitates his words. Stupidity... fades away
Indeed, in the land of exile, we ignite our poetry
So that remnants may die
In the land of our ancestors
And I have written a poem
About a homeland when I say:
Lebanon, on the horizon, has built a dwelling
Sydney sang of it, and minds chose it
**
