Collective Poem

By / Middle East and North Africa Surrealist

Translared by / Mohsen Elbelasy 

Text by Onfwan Fouad translated by/  dr yossef hanna 

Fakhry Ratrout :

I learned to speak the language of ruins and rubbles, 

And my imagination contracts

O rainfall, I salute you, 

As you know, 

The brush understands the pain of labour

Music belongs to the family of lillies 

And each breast is like a virgin planet.

Thoughts keep on shivering in fear

Remorse, I declare: 

You are like semen slowly sliding an arid throat

Darkness wears thick glasses.

We felt its pain sliding into a pair of old jeans

Your head is filled with ruined continents

Your stomach built by rocks of regret 

Imagination infested by jealousy and envy.

Like darkness, 

Always strangualted in an eternal muscle spasm.

My life is stuck between time and futility  

My life; a houseplant infatuated with its own shadow

Hearing compressed into a pumpkin.

The benefit of ornamental plants is

that they can weave fairy tales.

In New Delhi, 

a fainted little deity hides inside an elephant’s egg.

Is there any harm in drinking nationalist concepts on an empty stomach?

Dusk as well craves to join the game:  

Suddenly a strange pressure on my neck.

Time and place bickered: is the skull a public or private bath?

I demand that the mind be planted early in your head,

so that it becomes accustomed to your climate

Dry kisses: better water and stored them in the most suitable place in the house.

A dumb two-faced architect, full of arches, has

bent over and vomits a corpse 

as it was washing its face in my mirror.

Mohsen Elbelasy 

We sprouted from the chills of hardened wounds

We rang bells of paranoid crested wolves with spiny cockscombs

The roar of birth flows in the lung of extinct viral inks

If you draw a killer according to his flat look,

you are nothing but a low-born copyist

Be a visionary!

Draw him as  a stone cube wearing a black skirt

Or a masher of patatoes 

Encrust him with silicone breasts of virtue

Or ancient hurricanes of flour whirling under a rolex wristwatch

Or with stickers with written on it

“wanted  for psychological death” on it

A choir chants: 

 “boom boom boom boom boom, 

you are Grandpa’s distant shadow.”

O nude velvet rose

the center of darkness has been tattooed on the face of the black Nile 

In all earnestness I invite you: 

“desireous of  everything” 

Ask yourself: 

“Who is this or that?

Is it a man or a woman removed from her clitoris?” 

Breasts raised and stiff

Sometimes the tree is a man

                               His inflamed penis breaks into the plates of sadism, and crosses new sadistic constitutions

Screaming, screaming 

O Beloved death

You noisy smell-spasm of 

Our bodies throw stones at us

The penis has an enlarging rubber skull 

& mirrors are bathing in the river

Please,

Please,

We demand silence

Especially that The Squishy God who just sits there

In front of a bottle of cheap “rum”

Look at the Cocaine Worm

Each of you writes your table’s number on your chest and smile.

The second alchemy dinner started 

Clouds are the roots of the trees of dust

Aggressive slime is hijacked in the anus of social geometries

Barbarian crocodiles never sleep.

Static in their questioning:

Is the word “desire” responsable of desire, 

or does desire itself create the word “desire?” 

Michael  The Seer

My eyes crossed the hill

I discovered a new hole

To the right of the bill  

there are other countries moving in the same room

Also, 

Also,

there are other far  away countries flying from my eyes

The whole world is in the swamps,

 The swamps of some books made of white fox

 and sand-like hashishistic beer

MOHSEN ELBELASY 

I am the god of the golden fish 

mirrors flourish from the African horn in my mouth

Where were you the night of the seventy-fifth of December tenth?

As I remember

I devoured the anal of the starvation-pearls

What’s the secret behind the foam exiting your nails?

Put a copper cone between the thighs of the sky,

and vomit the messengers of black blood

“Where are you sitting now?”

The serpent-headed lioness squats over the head of the bowing-worm symphony

“What is the nationality of the poet?”

Sheep succumbing to a copulating hyena, 

smiling in pain, 

his eyes bulging

The poet’s nationality, you asked

“What is the nationality of the poet?”

Sheep succumbing to a copulating hyena, 

smiling in pain, 

his eyes bulging.

The poet’s nationality?

Nothing more but a cement-like clitoris turning to dust when aroused

Michael  The Seer

My looks make me drunk / forever lost in empty fields

My hands carry death / watching the grave of an evil monk

Drowning in the wind / Then swinging with a knife to float,

Barbarism is the new trend

Behind an old deserted garden / I solemnly bury my gaze…

Ghadah Kamal 

Eternal sun peeks out from the balcony of every day life 

Noon begs for eternal light

It’s coming  close, 

and time beats us

And before the evening

Birds return to their nests

Three sparrows look pitifully at what is between my hand

The night’s stubborn, 

it’s planets fallen down,  

Long and deaf night, 

It is meant for begging 

As someone coming at the end of all things

Like a fleeting dream before leaving

“Everything comes late.”

It’s salutes us and then leaves

Look at my last cigarette

Like the look of a last adieu 

Leave it! 

Go!

The last things are always sexy 

Though wobbling on the their last breath 

On an empty table,

except from my cup, 

and my fantasies, 

(I remembered those)

But I didn’t feel a thing

I finished my cup and smiled

Difficult climb, 

Tides, 

Black seas

Blackness of strength and glory, 

Blackness of pride and role 

Ships pass when it all calms down

Others drown in the slapping waves

In the middle of silent islands

Fresh air, 

Fresh sand, 

Simple huts, 

Beautiful trees

Attractive and playful trees

Leave it! 

Leave it! 

The teeth of calm? 

A beacon of love, 

A scourge of hate

Calorimeters of war, 

Breathing the repressed

Landing like a slice of dark imagination

Nawal Sherif 

Jagged face vomiting the adrenaline of the gaze

There is no deformed sadness left 

Except for the one fixing its smile

Existence has become colder than a dead ear

I am the first and last tear in the history of the angel of death.

Meanness!

Clouds without water

I feel Time, 

But Time doesn’t feel me back

Winds blow strong

trees sob 

While white umbrellas ascend 

like goblins in water 

ONFWAN FOUAD

/translated by : dr Youssef Hanna 

Digital Text!

 .

Delegate of Paradise Organization

Sent a telegram with a thundering cloud

Secret (point) beetles (point) flying (point)

liberate (point) God (point)

-Is Over-

Via a premium account

Had been requested

A shipment of enemas

Police of May is interrogating the Alps

Opening a clinic for out of masturbation writers

The directional motor had been hit by an orthodox malfunction

Opening a vandalic channel to teach writing behind the back

Postponing the trial of Fugitive horses from the race

Dissemination of photos on antisocial media platforms,

The missing “rat pinkie” belongs to a filthy rich family

That owns balances in Swiss “cheese dairy” banks.

Biological laboratory updates

Containment of Covid Virus

latest news

Distribution of kissing virus in particular (French kiss)

Accusing the information technology of leaking the largest size of mosquito panties

Appearance of a scar on an owl’s face.

• The spoiled child with the windy hairstyle  

Lost his diaper

The search is underway for a baby bottle for his mother and a hunting dog for his daughter

• The child with the loaf-like face  

Lost his favorite doll

He took revenge on autism doctors by throwing them in a nightclub for frogs

• The red baby

Changed his color after he stole a lollipop from the black kid

• The black baby  

Uploaded pictures of his buttocks on the trend website for the celebrities of «blue electronic flies».

Coal is the son of fire

Fire is the firewood daughter

Firewood is the son of the tree

The tree is the daughter of dirt

Dirt is the son of water

Water is the offspring of the clouds

The cloud is the descendant of the wind

The wind is the daughter of scream

The scream is the daughter of pain

Pain is the son of longing

The longing is the offspring of the gaze

Gaze is the daughter of sigh

Sigh is a mine stuck in the mouth of a female hippo.

For more details contact the prostitute

You will pawn your testicles in the fleshy currency market

-This procedure is a must-

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It’s scary when you read

what we read

To read what you did not read

It’s true,

To climb the ladder to the bottom

It’s not a well

nor a basement

But a lighthouse was bombed by a white shell on a black day

Throw stones of knowledge

On all the places inside you

ohhhhh

how hollow you are

Oh, bone pit!

Published in the English version of the second issue of the Room surrealist Magazine
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Surrealism and Africa

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