I am a descendant of the wind, The rain is my address…

By Musa Hawamdeh

Before the idea hit against the earth

Before the smell of the clay emanates

I wandered through the snitching market

Holding the weight of my loss

Killing my soul

I am both Eve and Adam

Cain and Abel

I am the breed of the sin

and the alliance between iris and ambrosial house …

I might be here or there

I might be in the pine or in the cedar juice

I might be in the alluvial Nile or in the bed of Thames

I might be a feather in the wing of a crow

Or a buried atom from a Chinese mine

I might be an African fruit or a tree trunk in Panama

I might be the darkness that covers the North Pole

Or a sunny day over the Pacific Ocean

May be I am an ancestor of the Tartars

Or of a Roman killer …

I might be from a Jewish family

Or a Buddhist

Or a Red Indian

Or a Hindu priest …

Who can determine that the tears of the eyes won't ever change?

Or the autumn wind won't air all year long ?

Who can ascertain that the cemetery soil never dwelled in the clouds before Socrates birth?

Or assure the heat that cooked the Pharaoh's body

is not the same of  which frivolled my child's face?

I might be a successor of different nations and many men 

I might have Russian grandmothers or Spanish aunts

I am sure that water of life revolves through the valleys and the desires

Between silk and pantings…

Surely my language is not my body

And the birds' voices are not strange to the movement of the wind and rain

I am not the present

Nor the future

I might have been a bird that came from the Persian time… 

Or a cross from Constantine era

A sword in Khalid's hand

Or a glass in Khayyam'

Who can guide me to myself?

My heart is full of the world's echo

My steps lead me to the first hearth…

I dare not curse Mars

I haven’t a desire to examine the path of Venus

I don’t have a desire to stop the magnet wind

from blowing over the bones of my ancestors…

I have a gleam from the God of War

A firebrand from Prometheus fire

I have verses of the Holy Koran

Verses of David

Hymns of Bolos

Excerpts from Buddha

Words from Abdul Bahaa

For I know nothing of the places of orbit or the sundown of creation

I began to get used to revelations

And to manifest the obvious in my mirrors…

I know all those who don’t know me:

My brother who has no relationship with me and never heard of my name

My sister from Caucasian

My aunt from Greece

And perhaps the Turks have tattooed my voice

Or the sea has tamed my savagery

A French farmer might have descended from me

Or trickery politician in Italy

I might have come from the land of Los Angeles

Or from Athena's clay

Who knows the history of my body before 2ooo years ago

Who have the roc’s egg in his hand?

Who can lead me to myself?

I may be not me

And not even you

I may be am here or there

You maybe from me whereas I am from Mars

I don’t deny my relationship with Zeus' soul

But I don’t confess that he has any blood in my veins 

I am not challenging the veracity of river

I am not hiding the sea in my cupboard

For I am a descendant of the wind,

And the rain is my address…