يا فيروز

بقلم: حياة بن بادة

يا فيروز

يا فيروز لمّا تشتّي الدني

مش رح يظل حدا

غير انت و انا

نحكي عالهدا

و يمكن كمان السكران حنّا

الي قاعد خلف الحيطان حدّا

يعدّ السنة

انت بتغنّي و انا بسمع

و بغني وراك و بدمع

بلّشت حكيات الشتوية يا فيروز

و جمّعت حوالينا المي

ولدنة بعدها فينا

بتحلم تلعب بالفي

مرئت علينا ايّام و راحت علينا

و ما في بأحلامنا مي حقيقة

و ما في بأحلامنا في حقيقة

و لا كانوا في يوم

بس حكيات النوم

مثلن مثل لصحاب

الي راحوا و قفلوا الباب

فيروز غنّي يا طير

يا طاير على طراف الدني

و خليني وراك غنّي

لو فيك تحكي للحبايب شو بني

يا صديقة زمان عنّن

• نحنا رح نغنيلن و خلي الايام تقلّن

A refugee camp

By: Hayet Ben Bada

If I could write down those memories

If I could paint your sorrow in diaries

Words would never mind

Colours would never mind

My ink also would never mind

But I couldn’t  find

That ink which could write down your story

Those images which could picture your worry

That colour of joy which could wipe your tears and  sighs

Because today, all the colours can effuse your eyes

I could never  find

Words that could describe a single tear

I am sorry,

It was more than what words could bear

If I was asked what I would be in that life,

A word ? a hero ? a state ? a knife ?

I would choose to be a camp

Only a camp can be  Superman today

Only a camp can be the united nations today

Only a camp can be the international community today

Only a camp can be the globe, the world’s  charity organizations,

The human heart, the human hug, and the human tender,

That can never belong to any human but humanity

The lost dream of today

Only a camp can be a hero today

Only a camp can dry tears and wipe a sigh

Only a camp can hold a refugee

Just like a country, just like a mother, just like a lover

 And only the whole world can kill a refugee

With his eyes and prayers and crocodile tears

With his catchwords, songs, denounces, lies and fears

Yeah, only camps can guarantee Heaven in wartime

Only camps can gift the refugee some love and some home

Only camps can be torn with the refugee’s body  by a bomb,

By a militia, by a missile, by the  wind

Only camps care, only camps mind

Only camps can stay untill the last moment with a refugee under the sun

Only a camp can be a man

The feeding bag boy

By: Hayet Ben Bada

In  that hopeless world lying calmly in my eyes,

There was no morning, there was no sun rise

Nothing but a sorrowful  lost stare and the little hands,

Holding a feeding bag and that tube stuck into her hands

Another story  was there in those poor African parts

Where  a medical tube seperated two combined hearts,

Where millions of orgnizations could never organize,

a single ‘normal’ life to those innocent little butterflies

Oh, what a pity...

Oneday, on my way to the blue world embodying the real one for me

And allowing me to talk freely with my friends and my family

That facebook that used to make me both happy and unhappy

That facebook that used to gather the parts of the galaxy

I saw a little African child in what seemed to be a white shirt,

Standing like a junior doctor working the night shift,

A question mark on his face told lots of stories

And a pathetic eye accumulating dozens of worries

An African poor child raising the feeding bag  of his mother

Maybe checking her pulse too, or thinking to call his father

But there was no stethoscope and there was no father

Because there were no human voices around

Only bodies lying lonely on the ground

Lonely he was, the African child with no ability

Standing disappointed, unlike the statue of liberty,

That ‘s enlightening only Manhattan and some imaginary worlds

As  the real world is wasting time and words

Alas... That statue could never see the sad faces overseas,

That statue could never feel their empty poor bellies

In Amsterdam

By: Hayet Ben Bada

In Amsterdam, we used to write down,

Our whispers and dreams by the dawn

Just like we were in Heaven

Just like we were seven

Just like children listening to Anne Frank at that time

Reciting her diaries

Will you remember Amsterdam’s memories ?

The dances of snow, of light to the songs of rain

Will you remember again 

The rainbow colours of that beautiful Amsterdam ?

When I don’t remember maybe who I am

When only the nights of Amsterdam

Stay  younger, younger…

And we go older, older…

Will you still answer my call when I give an order ?

Will you hold me when I am older ?

Having a misty memory in my brain

Will you ? will you hold my pain ?

When I am five  years old again

When I am hairless,

When I am homeless

When I am stateless

Having only you as a home and state

Will you still hold my little heart

Will you still wait

For me when I am late ?

When I am only five years old again

When I am only tears and pain

When my hippocampus  misspells your name

Will you still be the same ?

Will you be sad because I no more can hold you in my arms, honey

Because I have Myopathy, Myasthenia Gravis,

For instance, Osteomalacia,

Osteoporosis, Weakness, Parkinson ‘s disease or any

Will you ? Will you still love to live with me ?

Just like our forties, thirties, just like our twenties

When I am again five, four or even three

Will you still help me escape my fears

Will you still raise your hands to dry my tears ?

Will you still be that faithful lover and friend ?

Will I find you and your hug in the end ?

Just like the beginning, just like we  just married

Or you will be waiting when I am buried

Will I still be your wonderful season ?

Or you will leave me for any reason