Today’s post is a contribution from my friend Souad Tello, who is a Syrian refugee currently living in Turkey. Recently, she shared with me a poignant poem she wrote in Arabic with themes of love, loss, heartbreak, separation, and nostalgia. I liked the poem so much that I translated it into English. No poetic translation, especially this one, can do the original justice. But I hope it can communicate a fraction of the beauty of the original, which I have entitled “Life is Nostalgia.†Below you can also find two audio recording by Souad of the original Arabic and English translation.
One of our readers once shared the following quote: expression is the opposite of depression. It goes without saying that art can be a powerful means to expel negative energy.
Nostalgia [no-stal-juh]: a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one’s life, to one’s home or homeland, or to one’s family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.
Source: Dictionary.com
Life is Nostalgia (By Souad Tello) (Translated by Ben Peters)
The night comes. . with the moon in its embrace, mourning our sorry condition. . confused clouds, only occasionally visible to the eye. . a treacherous cold breeze after a violent heat. . the world spins around us. . as we stand firm in our place. . we cannot help but remember. . they departed. . they left our wounds to fester with blood. . and our eyes to wander through the labyrinths of the past in search of them. . because they were the source of our hope and confidence. . with a word or two they destroyed the worlds inscribed in our hearts . . with cold indifference they left like it was nothing. . the cold breeze returns. . the mourning moon. . and confused clouds, robbing sleep from our eyes. . with them they compel us to watch the threads of the past cloaked in sorrow. .
يأتي الليل . . وبØضنه قمر باك على Øالنا . . غيوم Øائرة . . تارة نراها وتارة لا . . نسمات برد غادرة بعد Øر ثائر . . والدنيا تدور بنا . . وما زلنا واقÙين بأمكنتنا . . مصرين على التذكر . . ذهبوا . . تركوا جراØنا تلعب بالدماء . . وأعيننا تائهة بمتاهات الماضي تبØØ« عنهم . . أجل إنهم من كانوا آمالنا من كانوا موضع ثقتنا . . بكلمة واثنتين دمروا عوالم كانت مخطوطة ÙÙŠ قلوبنا . . وبلا أي مبالاة كان الÙراق أسهل ما أمكنهم . . تعود نسمات البرد . . القمر الباكي . . والغيوم الØائرة وتسرق النوم من أعيننا . . لتجبرنا على السهر معها نشاهد أشرطة الماضي المغلÙØ© بالأسى . .