Searching for Caesar: In Memoriam of Adib al-Shishakli

Adapted from my November 2004 Arabic diary. Image by Johannes Plenio

DAMASCUS – 

My lady asks me—
Can Caesar be brought to his knees?

Yes.
Caesar is beaten, defeated with ease
when vermin grow weary of lofty degrees,
when rats from the heights, in treacherous pleas,
stab the just leader—
a thousand blades, a thousand deceits.

My lady, murder is nothing new here.
Killing is ancient, familiar, sincere.
He is not the first Caesar struck down in fear—
before him we slaughtered the saints and seers,
the prophets, the righteous—
we burned dry fields and green alike, year after year.
Our history holds no eternal names:
every great figure is destined to fall, to be shamed.

Our country is a volcano of blood—
we burn inside it, dissolve into mud.
Our lives are leftovers: bones in the flood,
rivers of skulls as they splinter and crush.
The sun has forgotten the lines of our face;
darkness arrived—and refused to vacate.
A black cloud chokes us, it flashes, it roars,
it thunders with fury—yet never pours.
Our hearts have hardened, turned rigid as stone;
our blood has forgotten the color it’s known.

My lady—do not be afraid of our sight,
even if millions stand armed in our might.
All that was said of our grandeur and grace
is a child’s careless scrawl on a schoolbook page.
And all you have heard of our “glorious rise,”
our revolution—
are loud, empty boasts for the foolish to buy.

---

تسألني سيّدتي ..
هل يُهزمُ القيصرْ ؟

نعم، يُهزمُ القيصرْ
عندما الجرذُ مِن العُلى يضجرْ
فيطعنُ القائدَ العادلَ..
بألفِ ألفِ خنجرْ

سيّدتي .. ليس مِن جديدنا القتل
هو ليسَ أوّل قيصرٍ يُقتلْ
قتلنا قبلهُ الأولياءَ و الأنبياءْ
و حرقنا اليابسَ و الأَخضرْ
لا مكانَ بتاريخنا للخالدين
لا بدَّ لكلِّ عظيمٍ أن يُقهرْ

بلادنا بُركانُ دماءٍ
نحترقُ فيهِ و نتبخّرْ
حياتنا بقايا عظامٍ
و سيل جماجمَ تتكسّرْ
الشمسُ نستْ معالمنا
وقع الظلامُ و لم يرحلْ
الغيمُ الأسودُ يخنقنا ..
يبرقُ، يرعدُ، لا يُمطرْ
قلوبنا صارتْ مِن حجرٍ
دمنا ما عادَ مِنَ الأحمرْ

سيّدتي.. لا تهابينا..
إن كنّا ملايين العسكرْ
فكلُّ ما قيلَ عن عظمتنا
خربشةُ الطفل على دفترْ
و كلُّ ما سمعتني عن ثورتنا ..
عنترياتٌ للأغبياءِ تُنشرْ