Ahmed Amor Zaabar
TUNisia | tunisia
à propos
Ahmed Amor Zaabar (tunisien, vit à Londres) est poète, écrivain et spécialiste des médias. Il était l’ancien président du comité culturel du Forum culturel arabe en Grande-Bretagne et l’ancien président du comité des médias du club arabe en Grande-Bretagne.
Il a publié trois volumes de poésie, il travaille actuellement sur 3 volumes de poésie supplémentaires. Sa poésie a été traduite en français, espagnol, chinois, italien, serbe et anglais. Son travail a été largement diffusé à travers divers journaux et magazines arabes, englobant des poèmes, des nouvelles, des articles critiques et des essais. Il a également été présenté dans de nombreuses anthologies de poésie et il a participé à plusieurs festivals internationaux de poésie.
about
Ahmed Amor Zaabar (Tunisian, lives in London) is a poet, writer, and media specialist. He was the former Chairman of the Cultural Committee of the Arab Cultural Forum in Britain and the former Chairman of the Media Committee of the Arab Club in Britain.
He has published three poetry volumes, he is currently working on 3 additional poetry volumes. His poetry has been translated into French, Spanish, Chinese, Italian, Serbian and English. His work has been widely disseminated through various Arab newspapers and magazines, encompassing poems, short stories, critical articles, and essays. He has also been featured in numerous poetry anthologies and has participated in several international poetry festivals.
I See Me in the Rapture of Water
I go out, I seek…
I look for a poem in the rain
Only to come back soaked
With sorrows that no words can dry.
There is blood in the sewers,
The remains of children’s bodies in the streets
This is how
They write the texts of life.
That child, who was
– Barefoot and naked –
Looking for a piece of bread near the rubbles
Has returned, covered in blood
Hunger in his stomach
Emptiness in his hand
A grave in his heart…
And a bullet in his head
For the hunger of that child has incensed the sniper.
……………………
They shoot bullets/death
At hope,
Joy,
Poetry and folk songs,
The smile of children,
History
They shoot bullets/death
At love
So that they build God’s realm.
……………………….
I see me, and I don’t, in the rupture of water.
Fragmented,
My words are broken
I have no fault but the dream of life,
And that I am a Yemeni boy.
For their souls are dark
They light you up with fires
But I see you as a phoenix
Rises from the ashes of fire
Yet it is the humanity in them I am wondering about
When will it wake up?
When will it wake up?
We don’t like wars
We don’t like wars
or their fires of discord that burn our hearts,
for we were all created equally
despite their sectarian and ethnic divisions.
We love to hold our grandchildren
not guns.
We love to be in the warmth of our wives’ embraces
not in the coldness of the trenches.
Why is it that while the poor are fighting the poor
wine is being poured and toasts are raised over our dead in celebrations?
We want to be liberated
from cold and hunger
from the shedding of tears
from nights that are besieged by poverty.
We want to buy bread for our children
not bullets.
We love simplicity
and we love to meander around our wives’ bosoms
until we collapse.
We love to the dances of women over men’s hearts.
We love to embrace life.
We love books.
We want to roam our neighborhoods
without the fear of dying
by a missile or a warplane.
We want to cross over to our dreams without the shedding of blood.
We want to look over the hills in the evening.
We want to gossip in cafes and visit nightclubs.
We love women.
We love cuddles.
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