تفاصيل نموذج العمل

المستقلين

Obsession (Translated Work)

Obsession (Translated Work)

هَوَسْ

“أَخْبِرُوهُ أَنْ يَبْقَى.”

أَشعُرُ أَنَ بُعدَهُ يُخْرِجُ رُوحِي مِنْ بَيْنِ ضُلُوعِي , يُدْخِلُنِي فِي اللاوعِي. أُحَاوِلُ الهَرَبَ حَيْثُ المَلْجَأ , حَيْثُ أَتأكَدُ وَ أَعْلَمُ أَنّ ذَلِكَ كُلَهُ مُجَرَدُ وَسْوَسَةَ , هَلْوَسَةَ…

مُجَرَدُ لَحَظَاتٍ وَ يَعُودُ كُلّ شَيٍء كَمَا كَانْ.

أَخْبِرُوهُ أَنّ نَظَرَاتِ عَينَيهِ هِي فَضَائِي, هِي عَالَمٌ حَيْثُ أَتَصَوَرُ نَفْسِي. ضَحِكَاتُهُ هِي سِرُّ خُلُودِ سَعَادَتِي فَإِذَاْ مَا ابْتَعَدَ انْطَفَئ كُلُّ ذَلِكَ وَ بَدُوتُ كَالحَي المَيتْ.

أَنَا المَيتُ الذِي انْطَفَئ قَلْبُهُ!

أَحْتَاجُ ذَاكَ القلب! ذَاكَ الكَتِفُ حَيْثُ أَضَعُ رَأسِي وَ اطمَأنُ حَيثُ أَشْعُرُ بِأَنّ كُلَ العَالَمِ بِحَوزَتِي, ذَاكَ القَلبُ الذِي أَسْمَعُ دَقَّاتِهِ وَ صَوتُ حُبِهِ لَيْلَ نَهَارٍ وَ فِي كُل لَحْظَة.

وَ مَا خَطْبُكَ أُيَهَا السيدُ القُاسِي؟

أَسَيَأتِي يَومٌ وَ أَعْلَمُ فِيِهِ نِهَايَةَ المَطَاف, نِهَايَةَ هَذِهِ الدَوَامَةِ وَ هَذَا الطَوَفَانِ وَ هَذَا العِشْقِ الدَفِينِ وَ لَهِيَبهُ وَ حُرْقَتَهُ وَ لَوعَتَهُ وَ عَذَابَهُ وَ صَمْتَهُ وَ عَجْزِهُ وَ مَوتُهُ وَ دَمْعُهُ وَ وَقْتُهُ وَ ذِيقَتَهُ… وَ بُعْدُهُ وَ أَلَمَهُ وَ قَبْضَةُ القَلبِ بِسَبَبِهِ وَ سَهَرِي وَ ضِيقُ صَبرِي وَ ذِكْرَيَاتُهُ وَ شَخْصُهُ وَ وَقتُهُ وَ مَكَانُهُ وَ زَمَانُهُ؟

Please, tell him.

Tell him to stay. I feel like the distance between us pulls my soul out of my ribs rendering me breathless, sinks me into the subconscious. I try to go where the shelter is, where I’m sure and know for certain that all of this is just a mere temptation, just some hallucination… some moments and everything will go back as it was. Tell him that his eyes are my space. It’s the world where I can visuals myself in. His laughs are the secret behind my eternity of happiness if he goes away, all of this will be hindered and I’ll be nothing but a lifeless body.

I’m the dead whose heart has been broken!

I need that heart and that shoulder where I can put my head on and reassure myself that the world is in my possession – that heart, the one I hear beat, the voice of love day night and in every second.

And what’s wrong with you, Mr. Cruel?

Will a day come where I’ll know the end of this… the end of this vortex, this flooding, this deeply buried love, its blaze, its heartburn, its anguish cries, its tortuous screams, its silence, its breakdown, its death, its tears, its time, its taste… its absence, its pain, the grip of the heart. Because of my watchfulness, my impatience, my memories of its person, its time, its place and its epoch…

Will a day come where this will end?

This is the translation from the Arabic prose!