يمدُّ كفيه إلى الأعلى
يسحبُ خيوطَ الشمسْ
يغزلُها نساءً بشعورِهِن السّابلةْ
ويعبثُ بالطيورِ السّابحةِ على كوفيتِهْ
يلتقطُها طائراً طائراً
ثم يطلقُها نساءً بشالاتٍ خُضْرْ
والشَّعْرُ سابِلٌ على الكتفينْ
يا لَحقل الحِنْطَةْ
أسرابُ طيورٍ مِنَ الْغَيْمْ
أمْ نساءٌ بشالاتٍ خُضْرْ
سنابلُ قَمحٍ على الكَتِفَيْنْ
قمَرٌ يَغْتسِلُ الليل بفِضَّتِهْ
The Narrative.. of Spikes
Jamil Abu Sabih
Translated by Nizar Sartawi
Spikes green
A field of spikes like the hair of a girl
A pretty girl or wheat spikes!?
O that field of wheat
drowned in the green clouds like a sea
who reaches up with his hands
to pull the threads of the sun
weaving them into women with loose hair
frivoling with the birds floating on his kufiya
picking them one by one
and releasing them women in green scarves
their hair hanging loose around the shoulders
O that field of wheat
Bird-flocks of clouds
or women with green shawls
Ears of wheat around the shoulders
A moon in whose silver the night bathes
