Taghrid Bou Merhi (Prepared: Angela Kosta)
Moderator 
TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LIBANO & BRASILE
TAGHRID BOU MERHI
(Foz Do Iguaçu, Paraná, Brasil)
She is a multilingual poet, writer, author, essaiyst, editor, journalist and translator. She has authored 24 books and translated 36 books to date, 114 article to date. She is an active member of various literary and creative platforms. Her writings are part of several national and international magazines, newspapers, journals and anthologies. She is working as an Arabic language teacher for non-native speakers. She is a global advisor for poetry on CCTV Chinese TV and editor and head of the translation department at various literary newspapers and magazine. She was chosen among 50 women from the continent of Asia who had a significant impact on the history of modern literature. She was selected among of 20 Top International journalists from Legacy Crown.She participated in more than 110 foreign anthologies and more than 80 Arabic anthologies, and her literary works have been translated into 48 languages. She has won many awards for her write-ups.
HERE I AM
Here I am,
the stranger climbing his disappointments as light climbs the gaps in night,
finding no mirror in faces,
no spoils in days.
I circle in the silence of mazes,
offering my torn dreams to the wind,
writing in the margins,
where no hope knocks on the door, and no question waits for an answer.
I sail through people’s eyes
searching for my shadow,
but distance swallows me,
the space confuses my steps,
until I find nothing but silence
as a song chanted by emptiness.
Oh sky of the unknown,
is there peace in you
to wash the weariness of life from my brow?
Is there lightning
to illuminate my path,
to lead me to where light dwells?
I am that weary soul,
walking like one chasing a dream
in the crowd of passersby.
“The road does not know me,”
“and the wind does not grant me wings”
to cross the river,
to ascend the echoes of the horizon.
Oh rain,
wash away the stains of days,
and write for me in the language of lightning
what silence cannot say,
so that I may heal
from the ache of estrangement
and the power of absence.
PALE AS A SHADOW
The hour now
is pale as a shadow
walking on the wall of time, weathered,
struggling with its steps in a dimming night,
and the sound of silence
surrounds the memory of years
like dust in the pores of the soul
slipping through the crevices of absence.
There goes the singer,
searching for a frayed string,
for his song
among the ashes of tales,
told by autumn,
while the trees whisper to the wind the secrets of their roots.
But the words
remain a wound on the lip of the poem.
Oh wind,
will you return with what was lost
on the long path of seasons?
Time passes,
heavy like a mountain,
groaning under the weight of memories.
And you,
oh friend of sorrow,
gather what remains
of a torn past
on the edge of the poem,
building from the shards
a future without a face.
The wind
writes on the forehead of night
the song of forgetfulness,
and the singer
sits on the banks of a distant river,
waiting for the echo to fade
from the heart of time.
ETERNAL CHILDHOOD
Take my soul
and set it free,
to wander through eras
clothed only in the purity of memories.
Let it take me back to when I was a child,
Dreaming of stealing a spark of light,
hiding it in the pocket of my dreams.
Carrying it far to paths I have not yet seen,
Searching for the mirage of childhood in the soil of villages,
And in the weathered nests of palm trees at the edge of fields.
I hear the whispers of memories,
Feel my steps echoing through the days.
If you wish,
Take my hand and lead me
to the scent of clay and the aroma of old bread,
Where stories rise from the cracks in the walls,
Where I wove a cloak for the sky from moonlight,
And planted in my soul a childhood that never grows old.
Take me far away,
For old wounds,
When embraced by the soul,
Become an endless night.
Yet they light moments of darkness
With stars that never fade.
Prepared : Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, promoter
………………………………………………………..
IN LINGUA ITALIANA
Il NULLA E L'ESSERE
Una dualità che cattura il pensiero,
si cela come un’ombra dietro la luce.
Silenzioso è il nulla,
un vuoto che si nasconde dietro le cose.
Può forse il silenzio generare clamore,
e il nulla tessere una storia?
Il nulla è quiete,
sparge il suo incanto sulle cose affinché svaniscano come se non fossero mai esistite.
Ma l’essere è un battito nascosto,
un sussurro nel cuore del vuoto:
"Non sei la fine,
sei l’inizio di una nuova nascita,
un mondo ancora da scrivere."
L’essere si riempie,
il nulla si consuma,
due danze sul palcoscenico della vita:
qualcosa nasce dal nulla,
e qualcosa a esso ritorna.
E nella distanza tra apparire e svanire,
si accendono le nostre grandi domande:
L’essere è un dono o una prova?
Il nulla è pace o castigo?
Siamo vivi o solo ombre di un dramma passeggero?
Nel profondo di noi stessi, un vuoto attende il momento d’incontrare il nostro vero io.
Solo allora,
quando ascolteremo il nulla,
comprenderemo il senso dell’essere.
ECCO LA NOTTE
Ecco la notte che avanza pesante sui fianchi del cielo,
e nessuno, tranne lei, conosce il segreto di questo peso.
Porta tra le sue pieghe un silenzio simile alla cenere,
sprofonda negli occhi dei veglianti
lasciando dietro di sé solo il vuoto,
un vuoto che si fa sempre più oscuro man mano che l’alba si avvicina.
Le stelle la chiamano,
ma lei passa senza voltarsi,
come chi fugge da se stesso,
come chi piega la notte nelle sue ombre.
"Che notte lunga..."
lo dico mentre cerco di raccogliere i resti di una luce
da una memoria smarrita nella folla della perdita.
Non c’è luna a guidarmi,
né stella che canti sulla terrazza della mia anima.
Le domande sbucano dalle cantine della vita,
mi tentano con risposte smarrite nel frastuono dei giorni.
Cammino tra le delusioni come chi cerca un’uscita
in un labirinto dove si odono solo echi di risate
dimenticate dal tempo sulle soglie degli specchi.
"O notte,
dove nascondi le tue fini?
E come crei dal tuo buio un sentiero verso la luce?"
Mostrami come gli occhi si spengono nel grembo dell’oscurità per diventare simili a stelle,
come l’ombra abbraccia i segreti dell’universo
senza tradire la speranza.
"Mostraci,
o lunga notte,
come attingere la luce dalle tue profondità
e come fare dell’attesa una poesia
che danza alla presenza del chiarore."
Lo dico e so,
che questa notte non svanisce se non sulle rive del sogno,
quando il cielo apre le sue porte al vento.
A cura di Angela Kosta Direttore Esecutivo della Rivista MIRIADE giornalista, poetessa, saggista, editore, critica letteraria, redattrice, traduttrice, promotrice
