Time??

A year passes and we take shelter or celebrate

By force it barters us the tattoos of its passage

By force it burdens us with its lines

*

What is time?

Melting wax.. dripping tears give us hope

With the embodiment of illusions in captive eyes.

*

Time?

Names they call us by

Under the coloring between the evening of the eye and short stories

Time is the list of appointments which

The train brings and we forget

So its sadness carves the spectrum of the final stations

*

If only this time would be kind; celebrate our heartbeats

Erase the taste of the sting from our sighs

If only this time would grant us the permits of arrival to us

Would it restore the optimist's optimism?

And restore the forgetful one's conscience

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If only this time would give us a deadline to ignore it

And ignore us so we give it a deadline

So we read in its facts our facts

And erase from our lists the chokes of the beloved dates

We forget the details of thirst and burning

And strictness and boasting

And conjecture and cocooning

And observation and tearing

We forget the torments of attachment and the short-sighted permits

*

If only it would cancel its programs

The details of degradation, dispersion, and separation

In the directions rejecting our being and our chanting

It forgets the seasons stuck to each other

Contradicting each other

Our travel in summer and winter .. the yoke of our difficult exile

*

Does time start us?

Or do we start it?

Or do we contain it without love and it ends us?

Or is it nothing but possibilities that tempt us and sadden us?

And nothing but wishes when they make us happy and miserable?

The illusion of features in our mirrors?

Our longing for small dreams

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If only it would come as a sincere friend

Not making the clouds a sarcastic summer

Or polishing the moments like a sharp sword

And not making the riders kneel on our organs in pride and abundance

Until it makes us forget our fragility, the breaks of the necks

Or contain the obsession of time within itself

As if it were silence when it comes as a rich downpour

Canceling the echo of our prayer for the rain of existence

And denying the world its abundant threshing floors

*

If only one day it would fulfill

The obsession of childhood .. it does not contradict itself

It does not separate the light rain from the cloud of longing

And the candles from the glow

It does not wash the colors from the engraving of the wings

In the spring butterflies

It does not separate the dreams from the mark of realization

It does not turn the garden into a wasteland .. how

Our desertification surprises us and we cry

When the caper laughs in our playgrounds, embracing the bleeding of the vein.

If only this time in us its passage was not difficult for us

It does not require from us the fees of our passage

Tolerant with us and waiting if we waited

Or we lingered at a turn whose passage eludes us ..

Gentle, it does not require a life we record

Nor the condition of dreams turning into ash in the incense burners

It does not gift winters that accumulate ice in the arteries

*

If only this time would remain murmurs of a coming hymn

The soul yearns for it as dreams drip starting anew

So it reveals in the soul a stream with warm shores

Enjoyable with the pulse, gifting us celebrations of conjecture

In the unknowns of its unseen

The winter flower and its freezing cold do not weigh down the hills in our souls

*

What is time? ...other than

The leakage of dreams from the recitation of the illusions of formation

A thick blur like smoke .. and it clears

The original scent of incense

Moments of suggestion of something that will come

Maybe it will come

And if it comes .. do we guarantee we celebrate it if it takes hold of the paths of our passion?

Moments of secrets

And the notebooks ask our tears

Where are the wishes when time meets what is engraved in the glow of the inner self?

*

Moments of confusion and carving the engraving of this life in the bread of the cheeks

O you who restores to our time the essence of the beginning when

The water was water

And the field was ears of grain

And the bread was a dream in the taste of a hungry person yearning for his bite

And he masters promises and is guided through the shine of the star

Longings he forms their purity from the burning of sorrows

In the steps of feet on the thorns of the open space

And the death of the shadow of sadness in the glow of the afternoon.

*

What is time?

Our crossing to a passing life?

Like the melting of the dream in the pain of small details

*

If only the clay of life would remain celebrating its innocence

And at the height of the possibilities of formation it is not ravaged by

The impositions of petrification; no

It becomes lines of a life not recorded by the fingers of our longing

Or the tears of our passion

It remains carrying what we want

*

If only this time would allow us to return

To restore our protoplasm

In the eagerness of the soul fraternizing with the possibilities of formation

In the mist of water before water

It rains from the clouds of the sky

And declares in the mirage of the soul the sighs of truth

And the celebrations of insight

*

If only this time would knead us

And restore us as soft clay

Celebrating the treasure of childhood and promises

And grant us the congestion of the first spark in the space of naive dreams

Erasing the features of every statue we formed .. what we wanted as our final destination

*

If only this time would remain as we always wanted it to be

A primitive rain on the sand of silence

A rain that prepares for the winds their cooing

And shakes the cradle of the soul satisfied if it

Relaxes, relaxes its braids on the joy of the braid

*

If only this time would set us free and forget itself

Erase our sins.. our fear.. our steps.. its tattoo in us

...

Do we remain running

Like the celebrations of exciting beginnings ????

Dr. Thoraya Al-Arrayed