The poet

Abdel-Hakam Al-Allami (b. 1962) is an Egyptian poet, critic, and scholar, renowned for his evocative verse and incisive literary studies. Holding a doctorate in Arabic literature, he has authored multiple poetry collections and critical works, blending profound philosophical inquiry with lyrical intensity.

A recipient of the Writers’ Union Award in Literary Criticism, Al-Allami has played a pivotal role in shaping contemporary Arabic literary discourse. He is also a founding member of several influential literary circles, fostering intellectual exchange and poetic innovation. His writings explore themes of time, existence, and human struggle, often weaving mythic and existential undertones into his reflections on modern life.

Through his poetry and scholarship, Al-Allami bridges tradition and modernity, making him a distinctive voice in Arab letters.

Translated into Arabic by Dr.Salwa Gouda

Dr Salwa Gouda is an accomplished Egyptian literary translator, critic, and academic affiliated with the English Language and Literature Department at Ain Shams University. Holding a PhD in English literature and criticism, Dr. Gouda pursued her education at both Ain Shams University and California State University, San Bernardino. She has authored several academic works, including Lectures in English Poetry and Introduction to Modern Literary Criticism, among others. Dr. Gouda also played a significant role in translating The Arab Encyclopedia for Pioneers, a comprehensive project featuring poets, philosophers, historians, and literary figures, conducted under the auspices of UNESCO. Recently, her poetry translations have been featured in a poetry anthology published by Alien Buddha Press in Arizona, USA. Her work has also appeared in numerous international literary magazines, further solidifying her contributions to the field of literary translation and criticism.

A Morning Like This

This morning is not like its usual self,
This morning!
It seems sluggish and frail
To the point of exhaustion.

And its sparrows, the ones that used to come
To tap at the windows
Every day…
Bearing good news
They did not tap today,
As if they had never come,
Had never tapped.

The grapevines and mango trees,
The ones that shade the house,
Are sorrowful and bowed, the rest too,
Because our meeting, which was to be complete
Under their shade,
Has also been postponed
Postponed to an unknown time.

Everything here has become
Uncertain:
The sparrows, the mango trees,
And our meeting, delayed
Once again…!!

Only one thing emerges
On the horizon,
And I nearly seize it
With both hands
It is that overwhelming absence,
And the loss that slithers like a serpent
Through the corners of this place!!

Never Mind

Perhaps I am alone
When I remember you
So will you allow me to remember you
When I am alone?

I wish you would let me
Remember you when I am
Alone!

For there is no loss after loss,
No loss after loss,
And no sorrow equals sorrow!!!

Had you wept, you might have reconsidered.
Had you—for instance
Chosen forgiveness
Before leaving me like this, alone,
At the finish line.

And I should have been
Merciful to myself,
As I stood on the edge of imminent ruin.

Now, here I am, alone
No blame on you, nor claim on me.
All I want is for you to let me
Remember you whenever I am
Alone!!

The Visitor

Sit.
Sit

For he does not see you.

And the door he knocked on
just moments ago
it was not my door.
Likewise…

The hallway he walked,
thinking it led to me
it was not the hallway
of my home.

And the meeting you imagine
now taking place between us

in truth, I am no part of it.
It was never arranged with me.

For he may be in one state
or perhaps another.

I suspect the door he knocked on
was an illusion
and the path he took,
a mirage’s deceit.

In any case
reaching my dwelling
was never his intent
that much is clear.

Nor could he, in such a state,
seek a gathering
shared with another.

And I—as I am now—
am hardly fit for such company.

Sit…
Sit.

For in this condition,
he hears—but not
with his usual ears.
He sees—but with eyes
unlike those we once knew.
He smells—but with a nose
not the one beneath his brow.

And know this:
the remnants of his other senses
no longer function
as they once did.
It seems they’ve shut down now…
making way for new,
extraordinary senses.

As for you—stay wary.
Watch for my hand’s signal
if I gesture.
Read the murmurs of my lips
if I speak.

And if I tell you:
Now.
Then it is now.

Only then, perhaps,
will he have stirred—
so rise.

The Shepherd

There are two times:

The time that was for you,
And the time that was upon you.

So it must be—while you are
In this state—that you reckon
The time that was yours…
Just as you must reckon
The time that was upon you!

And do not become mere fodder
Between these two times!

For the shepherd who grasps
His staff in this manner,
At such a time as this…
He alone is capable
Of that liminal passage—
That which is clear,
Yet scarcely clear—

Maintaining his balance
Longer upon these shores…
He alone can reach
What little grass and water
Remains in those wastes…

And he alone holds the power
To gather the scattered flock
With a single gesture,
A lone glance,
Encompassed by the watchful eyes.

For time is of two kinds:
A time when his staff reminds him
Of the weight of his duty,
And another, similar time,
When he bargains with the nights
For his desire to pacify
A straying flock:

That they neither go astray
Nor trade submission
For waywardness.

And they—in both cases

Are surely the losers,
For remaining within the flock
Denies them their longing
To break free from its imposed chains.

And their straying means
Abandoning themselves

Easy prey
For the wolves’ fangs
And the talons of birds
In such a desert!

So, these are the two times:
You must reckon
Their consequences—

The time that was for you,
And the time that should have been
Upon you!!