MURDER ON THE MED . . . . . .

 

This strikingly handsome young man with the piercing gaze caught my eye on Facebook this morning and of course wouldn't you know it there is a story and (and then some!) here:

This is Sudanese poet Abdel Wahab Yousif. He was one of 45 people who drowned in the Mediterranean Sea a few days ago when their ship was shot at by a group of men and caught fire. Authorities from Libya, Malta and Italy were all called but no one came to their rescue.

Abdel was well known among young poets in Sudan. Despite his poor upbringing he managed to get a degree at the University of Khartoum but even that wasn't enough to offer him a better life. He fled his home in desperate search of safety. But he knew of the dangers that lay ahead. In many ways, he predicted his own death at sea in one of his recent poems:

You’ll die at sea.

Your head rocked by the roaring waves,

your body swaying in the water,

like a perforated boat.

In the prime of youth you’ll go,

shy of your 30th birthday.

Departing early is not a bad idea;

but it surely is if you die alone,

with no woman calling you to her embrace:

“Let me hold you to my breast,

I have plenty of room.

Let me wash the dirt of misery off your soul.”

فى مقتبل العمر

دون أن تبلغ الثلاثين بعد .

ليس سيئاً أن تغادر باكراً أبداً ،

السيء، أن تموت وحيداً

دون امرأة،

تقول لك : تعال إلىَّ، حضنى يتسع لكَ،

دعني اغسل روحكَ مِن درنِ البؤسِ .

Абдель Вахаб ( вольный перевод  Helga Landauer  Ольшванг )

В море умрешь.

Голову станут качать твою

волны ревущие,

тела дырявую лодку клонить вода. 

В середине лет

сгинешь, тридцать едва-едва

не исполнилось.

Это неплохо придумано -  рано отбыть,

все же, конечно, 

когда умираешь один,

плохо, без той, кто звала бы обнять: «...прижмись,

много места в моей груди,

дай отмою, душа моя, 

дальше ты не страдай.»