Abdulkadir Musa

Abdulkadir Musa, born 1969 in Amude/Kurdistan (North Syria), studied French Language and Literature in Aleppo. In 1995 he moved to Magdeburg, Germany, where he studied at the Otto-von-Guericke University and worked as a translator and cultural advisor in the socio-psychiatric service. Today, a graduate of the ASH Berlin in Social Pedagogy, he lives and works in Berlin as a social worker.

His lyrics YOUR WINGS HAVE TAUGHT ME FLYING (Semakurd, Dubai, 2007) were published in the Kurdish language, which has been translated into German, Spanish, French and Polish. His poems have been published in German, Kurdish, French, English and Arabic in different magazines and anthologies (e.g.  Semakurd.net, Volksstimme and Ort der Auge…).

Main fields of work: poems, prose, translation, free rendering, editorial.

 

 

YOUR WINGS HAVE TAUGHT ME FLYING

 

TOO LATE

 

I’m waiting

Time is long past

For her to have come.

Feverishly my heart listens

for the sound of her steps,

the tac tac of small shoes.

 

My window is wide open

so as not to miss her coming.

The birds of my soul

fly towards her.

 

I anticipate

all of our joys,

her coming and my happiness,

when all the roses in my Vases

go with me to the door

to welcome her.

 

In my mind I see us both,

We share our experiences

Like children returning from a party,

Regaling their siblings with sweets,

Blooming like memories and

Happy moments that turn into ecstasy.

 

I will take my revenge

For my long wait

By not letting her out of my arms.

 

The cornucopia of our love

Melts the ice block of my solitude.

Was I ever alone?

 

And then finally she came.

and my ecstasy was gone,

spent and dead,

due to the long wait.

 

My tears fell

into her hands like pearls,

tears of disappointment

about me and her.

 

I was a child,

helpless and awkward.

I washed the used cup

waiting in the corner,

to bring her tea.

 

And when she left,

I buried the hope

of ever seeing love again.

 

 

 

Short poems
„For the hand“

-1-

To bring his memories to a close
he puts his head in his hands.
But his eyes let them
slip through his fingers.

-2-

A snowman
and the warm hands of a woman
What does he know about them?

-3-

In the mirror of her hands
he saw her image
in murky water.
With his hands moving,
His soul would be cast away
in the whirl of his fingers.

-4-

His forgetting is like
the loss of his hands

-5-

His hands wont let her go,
she, who is for him,
is like his own hands.

-6-

Once he decided
to free his hands
he gave away
his own hands.

Always you

-1-

Your name
I do not say
Not to disappoint the jasmine.

-2-

Your color
I do not show,
So that the snow doesn’t melt.

-3-

About you
I’ve talked,
Until the flowers bleed upon my lips.

-4-

For you
I’ve been waiting
With butterflies on my eyes.

Ashes of the heart

weeping
experiences end
You can read it in the eyes of my first lover,
Or in your last tears ….
So you too will not be a chapter in my story … ..
Do not spread yourself in my heart.
Leave me this loss ….!?
I myself,
I am a heartless man, whose hands are dead from departure,
deported
Do not kill me completely
So that I may find a place for my ancestors, like a needle-tip,
then I die a miserable death.
My nights and the darkness of the spirits ….
– (What do you say?)
You came with the morning, read the hymns and the dawn
Lay your heart on my heart for a while, the legend of Derwêşê Evdî to you I will sing and cry……!

Not over you,
Not over me,
– just to cry – so that I myself wash my eyes clean of this filthy world !?
Not me,
It’s in your hands, if you smoke my heart breathelessly to the end
like a last cigarette,
And … with the last sob
let it become ashes
In the ashtray of my chest! …
 

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