دروب القفار_بقلم الشاعر / مروان كوجر

 درُوبُ القِفَارِ

مررْتُ اليَوْمَ تَحْدُونِي الدِّيَارُ  

                        حَنِينُ الشَّوْقِ فِي قَلْبِي يُثَارُ  

وَأسْأَلُ كُلَّ بَابٍ عَنْ رَهِيفٍ  

                             فَمَا رَدَّ الجَوَابَ عَلَيَّ بَارُّ  

وَكَمْ عانَيْتُ مِنْ لَيْلٍ طَوِيلٍ  

                        تُسَامِرُنِي الحِجَارَةُ وَالجِدَارُ  

وَسَهْدٌ طَالَ قَدْ كَلَّتْهُ جَفَنِي  

                        تَسَائِلُنِي النُّجُومُ مَتَى النَّهَارُ  

وَقَدْ وَصَفَ الجَمِيعُ شُذُوذَ فِعْلِي  

                       رَصِينٌ كُنْتُ يَكْسُونِي الوَقَارُ  

وَكَمْ نَادَيْتُ فِي الأَصْدَاءِ أَبْكِي  

                       فَلَمْ يَسْمَع نَحِيبَ القَلْبِ جَارُ  

وَأَشْوَاكٌ تَرَامَتْ فِي طَرِيقِي  

                            كَأَنَّ الدَّرْبَ يَعْمِيهِ القَفَارُ  

وَتَحْرِمُنِي التَّقَرُّبَ مِنْ مَنَالٍ  

                  أَفِي الأَحْلَامِ مِنْ شَيْءِ يَضَارُ .؟  

وَأسْأَلُ دَمْعَتِي عَنْ قَهْرِ قَلْبِي  

                     فَهَلْ جَحَدَ الجَمِيل أَلَا يَغَارُ .؟  

جَمَادَاتٌ وَأَنْظُرُهَا بَعِيدًا  

                              لَعَلَّ الدَّارَ يَضْوِيها مِنَارُ  

وَقَدْ جَافَتْ هُطُولُ الغَيْثِ رَوْضِي  

                       فَجَفَّ الغُصْنُ وَانْقَطَعَ الثِّمَارُ  

فَهَلْ تَغْنِي عَنِ النَّسَمَاتِ رِيحٌ  

                     بِعَصْفِ الرِّيحِ قَدْ يَعْلُو الجَهَارُ  

سَأَلْتُ القَلْبَ هَلْ أرَبُّو لَعِيبٍ  

                  إِذَا أَفْصَحْتَ، هَلْ يَأْتِي مُضَارُ .؟  

أَمَا تَدْرِي بِأَنَّنِي فِي ضِيَاعٍ .! 

                        حَزِينُ القَلْبِ قَدْ أَصْلَتْهُ نَارٌ  

حَبِيبٌ كُنْتُ أَحْسِبُهُ ضِيَاءً                           

                      رَأَيْتُ الشَّمْسَ يَحْجُبُهَا النَّهَارُ  

فَمَا بَالُ المَحَبَّةِ قَدْ تَغَاضَتْ  

                         كَأَنَّ العِشْقَ قَدْ أَقْصَاهُ عَارٌ  

أَتَوَقُّ إِلَى الحَبِيبِ وَلَسْتُ أَدْرِي  

                        أَيَذْكُرُنِي الحَبِيبُ أَمِ الدِّيَارُ

  

                            بِقَلَم المُسْتَشَار الثَّقَافِي  

                            السَّفِير د. مَرْوَان كُوجَر

" Paths of the Wilderness"

Today I passed, driven by the homes

The yearning of longing stirs in my heart

And I ask every door about a delicate one

But the answer did not respond to me, dutiful

And how I have suffered from a long night

The stones and the wall keep me company

And the wakefulness has prolonged 

until my eyelids are weary

The stars ask me when will the day come

And everyone has described the strangeness of my action

I was composed, cloaked in dignity

And how I have called in the echoes, weeping

Yet my neighbor did not hear the heart's lament

And thorns have scattered in my path

As if the road is blinded by the wilderness

And it prevents me from approaching a goal

Is there anything in dreams that harms?

And I ask my tear about the oppression of my heart

Does the beautiful one not envy?

Inanimate objects, I look at them from afar

Perhaps the home will be illuminated by a beacon

And the rain has forsaken my garden

So the branch has dried and the fruits have ceased

Will the wind compensate for the breezes?

With the gusts of wind that may rise in the loudness?

I asked the heart if we grow for a flaw

If I reveal it, will harm come?

Do you not know that I am in loss?

A sad heart that has been scorched by fire

A beloved one I thought was a light

I saw the sun obscured by the day

So why has love turned away

As if passion has been cast aside in shame?

I yearn for the beloved, yet I do not know

Does the beloved remember me or the homes?

By the pen of the cultural advisor

Ambassador Dr. Marowan Kojar