translated from the Arabic by Kareem James Abu-Zeid
I stood in the red church,
its tiny domes like buds
blossoming in stone,
I stood near the saint’s resting place
while a tourist laid her cheek on the tombstone
to hear his beating heart.
But I was no tourist,
and the saint left the room with me,
and the church the builders wrote in his memory
was nothing more
than a passing dream in his eternal sleep.
The tourists come in vain,
as do the believers.
قرب مرقد القدّيس ناعوم في مقدونيا
وَقَفْتُ في الكَنيسة الحَمْراء
بِقِبابِها الصَّغيرةِ مِثْلَ بَراعِمَ مُتَفَتّحةٍ في الحَجَر
وَقَفْتُ قُرْبَ مَرْقَدِ القِدّيس
السّائحةُ تَضَعُ خَدَّها على بَلاطَةِ الضَّريح لِتَسْمَعَ نَبْضَ قَلْبِه
لَسْتُ سائحاً مِثْلَها
،القِدّيسُ غادَرَ مَعي الحُجْرةَ
والكَنيسةُ التي كَتَبَها البَنّاؤون في ذِكْراه
كانت حُلُماً صَغيراً في رَقْدَتِه
عَبثاً يَصِلُ السّائحونَ
.والمُؤمِنون
Copyright © 2022 by Najwan Darwish and Kareem James Abu-Zeid. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on September 24, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.