Do you remember the mornings? The passing of noon, the afternoon meetings.
Hassane Yarti, Moroccan writer, based in Barcelona, Spain, is member of Union of Arab Writers, Arab Elite Union for Poetry and Literature, President of Al-Nabras Association for Culture and Arts, Founder of Barcelona Literary Magazine. His published books include – Short Stories: “Circles of Emptiness” (2024), “Kufiyya” (2024), “Spectres of the Passing” (2024), “Creative Short Stories” (2013), “Creative Youth” (2012). Poetry: “Poems Against Atrocity” (2024). Forthcoming Works: Novel: “On the Griffen’s Back”, Short Stories: “There Is No Place Left”, “Dreams Come True” (joint publication), Poetry: “Yarties” and Play: “The Madness of Sanity.” Some of his works have been translated into English, Spanish, French, and Italian.
DO YOU REMEMBER?
Do you remember?
When we were young
One day I sat alone and made a decision
I came out of the silence of hearts
I wrote on all paths
“I love you,” and I said it aloud
Do you remember?
How were we?
And where were we?
How many times have I visited you!
And repeated it over and over?
Do you remember?
The beginning…
And the eagerness of a newborn child
The breeze of the dear café,
The mail letters
And our bewildered spirits?
Do you remember?
Our beautiful love,
The large book of passion
And our drunken eyes?
Do you remember the mornings?
The passing of noon,
The afternoon meetings,
And how we never drew the curtain over our windows?
Do you remember?
That years have passed
And I still chant loyalty as my motto?
Do not forget,
And be with me
So, I can be for you
A green branch that refuses to turn yellow.
***
STORMING
I thought the dream had evaporated
I spent my life in sadness
And I am more worthy of joy.
I thought that love stumbled at my feet
But,
It stormed me, my friend
And I was certain,
It was just late
So, it is love
Who restores what is broken inside us?
Bends over laughing
Lending a hand to this damaged
To realize, my friend
That when you love,
Even time… yes, even time!
…it changes.
***
MY EXPATRIATION
Oh, my jasmine flower,
O fragrance of love and youth,
I have resolved to depart
To the corridors of absence…
From an Expatriation,
Where clothes have tattered
At its paths.
From a a grief in my chest,
Awaiting the dawn.
From the darkness of the night,
Shrouded in fog.
And the water of a river,
Unwilling to accept the bitterness of reproach.
From a moaning of a boy
Seeking the embrace of return.
From a silly laughter,
That hides the scars of estrangement’s gloom.
From verses of longing that with their lines,
Snatched the coldness of the speech.
And from endurance,
Hours are etched forever
In torment.
And from hopes lost,
In the paths of hope and reproach.
And from the ruins we approach,
To grasp the truth: an illusion in a mirage.
So how can my Expatriation help me!
With verses of guidance and correctness?
To smell your fragrance,
Oh my jasmine flower,
For we were born from the womb of sorrows,
And the door has not yet been closed on us.
I long to a different form of time,
With you, companion of my path,
Tenderness, tranquility, and the hymns of a poet,
And a breathtaking scene.
__________________
Prepared by Angela Kosta Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator
