Mona

[عدلان عبد العزيز]

[align=left]

Marwa Adlan Ahmed Abdelaziz





Mona

2
a.m. I fixed my scarf over my hair and paid my traveler’s fees

It had been so long since I belonged

Been a while since I’d felt this at ease

Since the moment I stepped out and felt that dry nighttime breeze

Mesmerized by your moon, your stars, your air, your trees

Forgetting the fact that I was covered, heavily covered, head-to-toe in 90 degrees

I saw myself in your perfect face everywhere I turned as we are one

We are Sudanese



Since that time in July

Every Friday, 10 o’clock on the dot I miss you so severely the only outlet I have for this pain is through my eyes, and so I cry

And when you don’t answer your phone I compress all the beautiful words I reserved for you into one defeated sigh

But as you know I will always return to you, I know you will always reply

And so I go out and buy

Calling cards, download Viber, log-in to Skype, whatever makes us feel nearby

And when we speak, so hard I try

To keep myself together, eloquent, making you proud of my command of the Arabic rhyme

Make you see yourself in me as I see myself in you, prove to you I am not so Americanized

Make you realize that it is you whom I idolize

Yet so often I feel tounge-tied

Telling you all I can about my life, asking about your sons and daughters before it is time to say good-bye

I miss you so much and everything here is going well I say, but that is a lie

So as to not worry you…So I can hear us say in union Alhamdulilah



When I pick up the phone Friday mornings and hear you speak as if you stand at my side

I know I am your child

And I shed a single tear much denser than the whole of the Nile

What would you say of the nights my eyes weep in longing

You would tell me to smile

Don’t cry an Atlantic habibti, it will only double the miles

The miles we share apart

Which have no bearing on the unison of our hearts



I understand Mona
,

إن مع العسر يسرا

The good in life does not come so easy

Love is meant to ache

Reaching for greatness should make you sore

And I want to feel pregnant with hope

Isn’t that why we get pregnant in the first place Mona, or is this not the case anymore

Is that not what our children are for
?

So that while we may give up on change for the nation, we hope the next generation can spread the love and stop the wars
?

Protect them as we may try, but there is still much to answer for
.

So much anguish we know is set in store
.

All the negatives we put out of our minds and try to ignore
,

Are we so foolish to forget that we can run for our entire lives but it will reach us for sure
?



God has created man and the Nile out of two things: dirt and water

To forever compete against one another

A good natured, harmonic power struggle

Man tries to control the river, the river can too, control man with little to no trouble

River pulling down, man pulling up, craving each other

But do we see the waters do to themselves as man has done to his brother
?



What do we tell our babies when they look up and say

Where does the Nile lead to and where does it come from, these different waters which greet us every day
?

Are we not committing a crime against nature to be destroying for tomorrow what we are enjoying today
?

Or when we procrastinate on our duties till the day we die out and leave our children the grand price to pay
?

This cannot not be the Sudanese way
.



نحن جند الله، جند الوطن

We are the soldiers of God, soldiers of this nation

You embody our anthem and I will offer the world your translation

The intersection of ancient and modern civilization

Can anyone deny you are the jugular vein of His creation

Carrying on your back those who cannot go on to their destination

Without hesitation

Always with determination

Never

Never a hint of frustration

In your sweet voice with the slightest rasp

as you laugh despite these devastations

When you look up towards the stars and when you fall in prostration

You tell God your aspirations

You know that no matter the intentions, and the hard work work we put in

Nothing good will come to us without his cooperation
,

His salvation
.



It will come, tell them all it will come

Make them believe it

Make them strive their very best to achieve it

Let them know it won’t grow out of thin air

We must breathe a soul into it and conceive it

Never let them give up and start to grieve it

Or abandon it to ruins and leave our children feeling cheated

And remind them it is all we have left to hold on to if they fix their stride in a motion to leave it

Tell them.

We will not be defeated




Marwa Adlan

[عادل عثمان]

[align=left]if i didn't spot the name under the photo, i would have thought that this was the picture of a young, idealistic, naive, altruistic female student who went to the university of khartoum in the eighties. her name was nazik, the mother of this creative young writer marwa. this is for one.

i hope we were not misled by the arrangement, typographical arrangement, of this text on this forum. looks like it's one long text.

apparently it's not one long text. to my mind, these are different poems/texts written at different times, in different contexts with varying velocity of emotions, but now have been lumped together by a proud father for sure.

adlan is, and will always be, proud of marwa, not because she is his daughter, or for that matter, he is her father. he is objectively proud of her creative writing. not just her writing per se, but her writing about her sudanese roots and attachments. which is fine by me.

but i would like to think that creativity in itself is a media for not just expressing loyalty or nostalgia to the parents' homeland, which marwa has visited a few times, has retained, with the help of her parents the arabic language, albeit awkwardly retained, meaning marwa is not a fluent arabic speaker, as she was born or has lived most of her young life in the us.

this was,, in my opinion an introduction to my reading of this very interrsting text.

i will continue my critical appreciation of this vivid writing in the next piece tomorrow in sha allah.

[عادل عثمان]

[align=left]marwa wrote in her piece entitled "mona" this poignant and telling phrase:

It had been so long since I belonged

this is the key to feeling and understanding her angst and overly sentimental writing about her transformative visit to sudan where she met mona and fell in love with her and with the country
falling in love is a great happening in any one's life, be it with a person, a place, a book , a spiritual experience or else
yet is it genuine and lasting love?
it doesn't matter as long as the feeling of falling in love gives us this transient sense of wellbeing, of belonging, of solace, of having rooted existence
love could be and often is a delusion
and poetry in effect occupies this delusional space with distinction

the writer's sentiments and curiosity are put to test with the attestation of moving from a cold weather to a hot climate, from being literally suffocated by her heavy garments as she desends from the airplane, to another level of metaphorical suffocation geared towards women, the writer has yet to experience firsthand

what about the second or third visit? what about going out, breaking from this warped and protected existence?
i am not suggesting that the writer should be challenging authority or prevailing norms, though, as a writer with enhanced sensitivity, she might be in a better place to observe, critique and make poetic statements full of nuance and subtlety

[عادل عثمان]

[align=left]in my appreciation of this great writing by marwa adlan/marwa nazik, i pick key words/phrases/sentences in the context of these texts, which are organically informed by the dichotomy of living in two worlds, apparently, on the face of it, so differnt, yet -at closer examination- they are made of the same stuff that god, according to marw, used to create our planet

God has created man and the Nile out of two things: dirt and water


dirt and water

water symbolizes purity, cleanliness, innocence and chastity, while dirt represents earthiness, flesh, desire and ultimately sin a la christian doctrine

this dichotomy is -almost- an schizophrenic split between self as being part of other selves, and between self in its unitary, solitary, unique, individuality
these selves have to endure unfavorable circumstances, have to endure a lifetime struggle for peace and identity
fortunately the writer is trying to resolve this dichotomy, this conflict peacefully without resorting to extreme choices or in fact pseudo-choices and becoming a fanatic other, meaning antithetical metamorphosis of western civilzation whatever that denotes

if not for certain political circumstance which forced the parents to flee their homeland, marwa could have well been born and grown up, and perhaps still been living in sudan

of course, this is a hypothetical pondering of reality, but hypotheses are the stuff of making sense of life in general and destinies of individual lives in particular
having said that, i would like to confirm that my reading of these texts is solely my interpretation using modest knowledge of literary criticism and appreciation with some insightful, intuitive at times, reflections

will be back

[عادل عثمان]

[align=left]
It will come, tell them all it will come

(it)
through this interesting paragraph this pronoun is dominant
at the end of most verses you find it
in between the lines you find it
it in english grammar and conjugation refers to an object not to a human being

so what is it? we can infer from the text that (it) refers to something fundamental which can change life
and fix problems and reinstate rights and end tyranny
is it REVOLUTION?
is it the MESSIAH coming back?
is the UTOPIAN dream of salvation in the wider sense of the word?

the obscurity of it gives it a powerful connotation, almost a religious, determinstic faith
faith in the so-called Sudanese spirit and Sudanese way informed by history of an ancient civilization and contemporary struggles to match the heroic past
this fervent -almost religious- belief in (it) underlines hope in times of despair

optimism against submission to the status quo

there are echos of Mahmoud Darwish's


هنا، عند مُنْحَدَرات التلال، أمام الغروب وفُوَّهَة الوقت،
قُرْبَ بساتينَ مقطوعةِ الظلِ،
نفعلُ ما يفعلُ السجناءُ،
وما يفعل العاطلون عن العمل:
نُرَبِّي الأملْ.

[عادل عثمان]

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Love is meant to ache

Reaching for greatness should make you sore

And I want to feel pregnant with hope

+

pregnant- conceive - babies - children - grieve - abandon

all these words- scattered elegantly and functionally through the text- talk volumes of how a female writer perceives and comprehends the world, and “reproduces” her own take in words like the words above.
getting pregnant- metaphorically- and giving birth to new writing, to self expression, where writing is equivalent to bringing new lives into the world. where writing has the same sanctity and energy and novelty as the act of getting pregnant through fertile landscapes and experiences, and giving birth. and thus being elevated to the status of creators.
nothing is more sensitive and demanding- and at times risky- than being pregnant and being responsible for a fetus, a living being, for as long as nature dictates.
and there is nothing more painful, aching and make you sore than labour and giving birth.

using these powerful images and experiences- from the exclusively female cosmos- infuses the text with vigour, pain and authenticity.

[عدلان عبد العزيز]

[align=left].


Ooh la' la' our dear friend Adil Osman. Proud parents also want to share with you Marwa’s latest poem

Roots

[video width=500 height=430]https://www.youtube.com/v/TG826EaPWV8[/video]



.

[عدلان عبد العزيز]

[align=left]

Roots


Mhm, I see it on your face
The word that resonates
Metaphorical, loaded and complex to each individual soul of our race
Yet a word understood so literally straight
To be far from straight, so heavy weight, and weaved into plaits
You cannot equate
Our roots
To anything
Though along the edges they have tried to circumnavigate
Diaz
Destroyed and then tried to recreate
The bold and black empires that predate
The side of Africa they teach the kids in school today
Long ago
?
They had Alexander the Great
Now? Only high infant mortality rates
I sit in the front of that class and silently wait
For the stares to die down
as my classmates look to me, the only black kid around, so naturally the only one who could possibly relate
To such a fate
And they silently wait
Young people with so little knowledge but with such looks of contempt that are so innate


Let me be your teacher so that I can hand you the key
To stop seeing things as black and white as the tail of the indri
Our land not lacking in variety yet firm in unity
Must fearlessly seize by the horns each opportunity
To join every man and woman and deliver our messages of solidarity
To my people in Sudan, I hope they will see
It doesn't matter falati, habashi, junoobi
Brown as the bark of the baobab tree, fair like the flesh of its fruits, or black as its seeds
We've all rolled in the desert gold or sprouted from the green of the Serengeti
You are my all family


But I must confess
From the horn across the Sahara to the west
I see us time and time again obsess
About where he comes from, what kinda hair she has, how dark they are and how they dress
Minds which are oppressed
To appeal to the sense
Of the very ones who see us as a whole always deserving of less
Those whose own self-worth can only be reaffirmed by reveling in our stress
Are you beginning to understand what I am trying to express
?


And no I cannot apologize
Because the world heard Africa's cries
Heard those lies
Saw the hardship with their own eyes
And didn't ask why
Welcomed the fall and did not help her rise
So point me to her allies
?
Surely not these predators in disguise, watching us closely with their snakes eyes
See our land, the people and our dreams as their grand prize
Then begin hailing from the skies
Under the ruse to tour here, build this, do their duty proselytize
I don't want to criminalize but I'm tired of these lies, and insincere gestures to civilize
You mean colonize, exploit, and gentrify
Hell no


I'll be damned
If they can come here, steal your people, steal your jewels, your fruits, your land and then further expand
Morocco, keep going, Togo, sail on, Angola, Swaziland
But don't stop there they said take more if you can
Mozambique, Comoros, Kenya, now dock your ships in Port Sudan
Poison the waters and then aband
And yet still you withstand
Their deadly commands
Oh Africa help them understand
Without your beauty could you even have attracted the white man
?
But I will tell them this is my land
With my name etched into its sand
Carved delicately and permanently by my permanently black hand
Forget your tans
This skin is our brand


Indeed sometimes it is ok to take a moment to pray
That soon one golden day
To Africa we can return and stay
And for justice to reach every action of man come judgment day
When their tongues will silence but their hands will betray
When not an atoms worth of truth shall be withheld nor a single lie conveyed
For this we must wait
But that's not enough, yes we should be patient but let's not delay
Resist the occupation of your mind till it all fades away
And remains only the heart and spirit of Kunta Kinte
Rooted in the backbone of your DNA


If you can feel these roots growing out of your head
If you felt that connection even when it remained unsaid
Just look ahead
And pay attention to patterns told by wise women and men
Oh sailers of the seas, creators of the dance, dwellers of Virunga glens
Diggers in the sand, lovers of the prophet silent and muezzin, exalt your melanin
Don't be fooled by the darkness because this long night has long been our friend
But look to the edge of the horizon as this pass comes to an end
You'll see our brothers returning from the fight with a victory so inevitable it will transcend
A final truth that recognizes the great and just, with no questions left to suspend
Even after the affliction and heartache, still ever a truth that forgives and makes amends
And as the light of our hearts courts the dark of our skin
Tell mother Africa and her daughter, her sun will rise again


.

[عادل عثمان]

[align=left]Oh Adlan and Nazik, proud parents of this very talented poet Marwa
Thank you for sharing the latest writing by this young charismatic poet
I read the poem and listened to Marwa delivers the poem/text with such powerful performance which started rather nervously, or maybe deliberatley cold, and gradually became what is poetry is, and always has been, thoughtful, yet emotive
and hell, Marwa is an agitator of a kind

she played the stage and the audience and herself, baring it all
talking about colour, race, africa, history, colonialism, exploitaion, unity of mankind, slavery, usa, personal experiences etc.. with frankness and passion which roused the young audience reminding us with the idealism, benign idealism, of the american civil rights movement - MLK in his immortal speech and rallying cry: i have a dream

i do commend and praise the courage, the poetic creativity, of Marwa and look forward to more writings and recitations

oh thank you so much for this fresh vision and perception

our Sudanese poet, the late Mahjoub Sharif wrote in the hopeless and despairing years of the second dictatorship, in his cell in Cooper prison, believing in the future emerging like the phoenix mythical bird from the ashes of tyranny and despotism

يا شعبنا يا والداً أحبنا

يا من منحت قلبنا ثباتك الأصيل

اليك هذه الرسالة القصيرة الطويلة

اليك من زنزانة تخاصم الفصول

اليك رغم أنف كل بندقية

وحقد بربرية

وكلمة شقية.. اليك منا الحب والسلام والتحية

ودمت يا أبي حبيبنا وبعد أدبتنا

أحسنت يا أبي

فلم نتابع الهوى وكأنما هابيل ما ارعوى

وكم غوى وتاه فى الأنا

أراد للدماء ان تسيل

ونحن مثلما عرفت يا أبي بفضلك الكريم

أشرس الرجال حينما نقاوم

نموت لا نساوم

ندوس كل ظالم

ونفتح الصدور للمدافع الثقيلة

ومن هنا أبناؤك الرفاق باسمك العظيم أقسموا

فصيلة فصيلة

أن يثأروا لصرخة الأمومة الجليلة

لطفلة جميلة.. تنفست قليلا.. تمددت قتيلة

رصاصة فى جنبها وطعنة فى قلبها

لم تعش طويلا

لكن مليون مثلها سينجب النضال

يا أبي حقيقة

فكم من حديقة تفتحت على حطامها حديقة

وكم مكان نخلة هوت علت نواتها وزادت ارتفاعا

أجمل الأطفال قادمون ساعة فساعة

عيونهم أشد من عيوننا بريقا

صدورهم بما وهبت أكثر اتساعا

وحينما يكبرون يا أبي

سيوفهم تزيد من سيوفك الطوال طولا

لأن بذرة الحياة ليست الرصاص

لأن بذرة الحياة ليست الرصاص