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  • L-Għanja tal-Ħajja (The Song of Life)

    Posted on March 29th, 2009 Admin No comments

    Fuq Patmos tlajt imnebbaħ
    fuq il-qċaċet ta’l-għana fejn l-iriwefen
    bħal weraq tal-ħarifa bid-dawran ħafnuni.
    U leħen jirbombja biex nikteb amarli,
    biex ngħanni l-weġgħa ta’l-għaxwa tal-ħajja
    li tibki bil-ferħ tal-għajxien.
    Għax qawwa moħbija ħemm f’kollox.
    Vina midmuma bħal ħajta miż-żibeġ
    il-ħolqien b’demm wieħed issensel.
    Geġwiġija l-għagħa jinstama’ tal-ħajja mqarba.
    Bħal twerdin ta’ tnabar imbiegħda
    l-ilħna tal-vulkani li jolfqu
    mat-tqaħqiħa tajn jaqbad.
    Ġol-widien jokorbu ċ-ċarċari mitlufa bħal ninfi
    ġod-daħna tar-raxx.
    Fuq niggieża tal-blat il-baħar jintilef
    f’għaxwa ta’sadiżmu jfexfex.
    Hemm qilla moħbija bħal xprun li żżattat il-ħlejjaq.
    L-imħawwel bħal ħolma mit-tira jittawwwal
    u jogħla ’l fuq ’il fuq.
    Is-swaba’ sewdiena taz-zkuk jagħrxu l-arja
    għall-fosfru tas-sejjetti mikluba.
    Il-ħaxix żieni jgħatti kullimkien
    sal-ibgħad nitfiet.
    Kemm jitgħaqqdu l-għeruq imbaċċna taż-żebbuġ
    bħal kobri tal-qilla bla serħan.
    X’inhuma jfittxu bla waqfien jitqallbu go ngħashom
    u mal-ħaġar niedi jingħorku ?
    Bħal sfafar t’orgni lkoll man-nifs jitriegħdu
    b’għafsa minn polz ta’ ġgant il-ħlejjaq
    jgħannu għanja waħda.
    Qawwa xħiħa hemm f’ġuf l-art li tħaddan kollox magħha.
    Wiċċ il-baħar ’l isfel tross
    u l-ħawħa li taqa’ misjura.
    Imma l-ħajja tisfida.
    Minn ġol-mewt ta’l-art, minn ġol-ħama,
    mill-intiena tal-weraq imqadded
    zokk dritt jitla’.

    Bħal noti t’obwe ċar fis-skiet jitla ċ-ċipress
    bil-wieqfa fuq ix-xefaq.
    X’qilla bla rażan fin-natura,
    fil-liedna li tixxeblek u l-ħitan tiksi bit-twapet,
    fil-balluta mastizz, fl-awrikarja,
    fis-swaba’ bħal labar li jagħrxu l-fewġiet,
    fil-kaktus bir-raġġi tax-xewk,
    fil-ġiżimina bħal mara b’xuxitha maħlul
    li tlissen ħolma ta’ bjuda.

    X’qawwa fil-qarn ta’ gendus moħbi, fil-fwar
    mill-imnifsejn bil-ħolqa ġo fihom,
    fil-għoqod tad-dgħif f’dahar iż-żiemel,
    fil-forġa qalila ta’ xedaq iljun
    fejn l-ilsien bħal fjamma jintlewa.
    X’ġenn iħawtel lin-nemel li jgħaġġel
    bħal borza lewlu ma’l-art imxerrda,
    u fl-irsieset li jsiefru bl-għexieren,
    qaddiefa ġol-baħar tas-smewwiet kaħlan,
    u fil-kaħli jinbaram bil-mijiet
    bħal irbgħajja tal-fidda.
    Minn xiex tfittex il-ħelsien il-fula
    li mill-ħuxliefa titqaxxar taħt it-trab ?
    Minn xiex jaħrab is-serp li qoxortu f’għar iħalli ?
    Liema għaġġla d-dudu tal-ħarir iġġennen
    biex min-niċċa tal-fosdqa jinħeles ?
    Bħal murtal imlewwen li jitla’ b’tifqigħa
    kuruna f’kuruna jitwassa’
    tiġdid ifittxu l-ħlejjaq, tkabbir fil-medda tal-ħajja
    biex fit-tnissil tal-wild jiġġeddu.

    On the isle of Patmos entranced I climbed,
    on the peak of song where the winds gripped me
    like the autumn leaves in whorls
    And a resonant voice bade me to write
    a paean about the sweet delirium of life
    that weeps with the exultation of living.
    There is a hidden motive force in creation.
    The beads of life are strung on a vein
    filled with the same blood.
    The hubbub of Life’s restlessness is pervasive.
    Like the beating of drums
    the voices of volcanoes resound,
    spluttering fiery mud.
    Like nymphs the cataracts groan
    enveloped in a veil of spray.
    On the sharp pointed rocks
    the sea is lost in a swoon
    seething with sadism.
    There is a hidden force that goads Life.
    From the moist earth like a dream
    vegetation stirs and shoots up.The dark fingers of the conifers
    tickle the breeze
    that hungers for the phosphor of the thunderbolts.
    The lusty grass covers every nook and cranny.
    Knotted are the thick roots of the olive tree
    like awesome cobras that know no rest!
    What do they seek in their sleepy contortions,
    wrestling against damp rocks..?
    All creatures sing the same song
    as the wind vibrates the pipes of an organ
    pressed by the pulse of a giant.
    There is a covetous attraction in the womb of the earth
    which would embrace everything.
    The ocean gravitates therein
    as well as the peach that falls in its mellowness.
    But Life throws up its challenge.
    Through the inert clod, through the mud,
    from the rancid compost of the leaves
    the stem grows upright.

    Like the clear notes of the oboe in stillness
    rises the cypress erect on the horizon.
    What boundless exuberance there is in nature,
    in the climbing ivy that covers the walls,
    in the solid oak, in the araucaria,
    in the fingers like antennae probing the breezes,
    in the cactus with the beaming prickles,
    in the jasmine like a woman with her hair undone
    whispering a dream of whiteness !

    What power in the horns of the bull enveloped in steam
    emanating from the ringed nostrils…
    in the knotted flesh on the horses haunch…
    in the terrible forge of the lion’s jaw
    with the tongue convoluting like a flame !
    What frenzy urges the ants that bustle
    like a bagful of beads strewn about..
    and the herons that migrate in tens
    like oarsmen of the celestial ocean,
    and the blue fish that twist in the sea
    like silver ducats..!
    What freedom does the bean seek
    when, underground, it divests itself of its husk?
    From what does the snake flee
    when it abandons its skin in a cave…?
    What urgency crazes the silkworm
    to free itself from its chrysalis ?
    Like a colourful rocket exploding
    in expanding haloes
    Life seeks in its stride, renewal and dominion through regeneration.

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