Three poems by Jazra Khaleed

Somewhere in Athens

Somewhere in Athens December the Sixth
The kid will kill the cop before sunup
Somewhere in Athens December the Seventh
On the streets the banks are burnt one by one
Somewhere in Athens December the Eighth
Let’s cut a rug in Parliament’s rubble
Somewhere in Athens December the Ninth
The poets in the streets eulogize fires
Somewhere in Athens December the Naught
Because the rebels shot the bell-tower clocks


Translated by Sarah McCann


*

Still Life

Midday is hot. It cripples me
It’s been two days since I ate. I’m pregnant with tempest
Children don’t play in my neighborhood
Lovers don jockey caps
They are flat. Like their kisses
They are unwrinkled
They walk along the streets, elbows jutted out
News gets plastered to the walls in my neighborhood
Glee festers like a bullet in a cop’s stomach
I myself sell butcher knives at the abattoir of the everyday
I write a poem every time I go from my home to the metro
I am waiting to be touched


Translated by Sarah McCann


*

First Death of the Poet J.K.

I will die the death of an immigrant from Chechnya,
you’ll find me in the trash
with throat cut and hands cold.
On the town square they will say: May he rest in war!
And if you spread my word to the ends of the earth
I will come back as a panther one sunny day.
I will die the death of a prostitute from Senegal,
you’ll find me in some vacant lot
with a police bullet in my head.
On the town square they will say: Blessed be the warmongers!
And if you lumber me with the sins of poets
I shall rise from the ashes once again.


Translated by Peter Constantine


Poems by Jazra Khaleed, reprinted from The Light That Burns Us (World Poetry, 2024). Copyright © 2024 by Jazra Khaleed, translation copyright © 2024 by Sarah McCann and Peter Constantine. Reprinted with the permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.