la traduction en langue anglaise d’un très beau poème de la talentueuse poétesse Souleyma Srairi intitulé Alyssa comme hommage à l’une des héroïnes de mon deuxième roman intitulé ” La Quête De L’Espoir Sublime “, J’espère que vous apprécierez sa lecture et merci.
Oh Goddess of the rainbow’s arc,
And incantation of night that spark,
You eulogize the winds that blow,
In frost outside the walls below.
No sky today can shed its weight,
From ancient vaults, it holds its fate.
No blank canvas filled with absence found,
No shadows rise in time’s cold ground.
Upon the edge of your royal gown,
The apple sleeps, in joy, it drowns.
There, outside the earthly sphere,
A tree ascends, a woman sitting there,
Her laws are strange, no one escapes,
All croon the songs that love creates.
Yet only your beloved sifts,
The salty sands where longing drifts,
At journey’s edge, he opens wide,
The boxes filled with joy inside,
To water’s anthems and waves that roar,
A bride who sleeps in darkness’ core,
A chance that sings for lovers’ bliss,
Alyssa,
Why when our poems are muted in silence,
Do meanings shed their sweet reliance?
The “word” is held in chains so tight,
On love’s vast margins, lost from sight,
A madman in the blind man’s land,
Recites the gems of love so grand,
To ears of scarecrows, lone and bare,
Why are love’s adventures lost,
In memory’s clasp, the heavy cost?
The swallow’s flight departs our shore,
Heralding “departure” evermore,
The quarter’s bare,
With welcomes, friends, and whispers rare,
I declare this moment, dear Alyssa,
Before we climb the stairs of amnesia,
A home for you within my heart,
Another in the realm of art,
A light sky, and moons that sing,
So why, when earth hides wounds in spring,
And streets dream of a white rose’s grace,
Does night’s desire quicken its pace,
On windows of those who roam,
And lamps fade in wishful foam?
Now, nothing left to say or do,
The land has loosed its braids anew,
Forsaken scenes cry out for feet,
Who’ll wash our bitter cups, complete?
Restore the hues to vibrant glow,
So hearts can rest in forms that flow,
And we can spill our whites and palms…
