The Suitcase

The Suitcase

BY NEBIY MEKONNEN

TRANSLATED BY MITIKU ADISU

At airport terminal luggage zone

A conveyor belt goes round and

Comes around;

A suitcase with no owner,

Tagged and leisurely making the rounds,

Revolving as it wandered.

It could be a depository of knowledge

Or of items of little worth.

A suitcase under lock & key;

Zippers under gag order;

What is it about shut and dark spaces?

This suitcase turns, turns some more,

Returns, glides by again;

Twirls like a young lady standing on her head;

A suitcase none would pick up;

A suitcase unable to get off the belt;

A suitcase unable to get off abroad

Or duly return to its homeland;

It keeps moving back and forth like a thought;

It moves sideways,

Like rainwater rolling on the green;

Exile is just that—

A nation losing its conscience;

Conscience forcing one to flee;

To flee to interior self;

To flee on other’s behalf;

Subjected to alien heartaches;

A flower deprived of a butterfly;

A butterfly, and no flower;

Aimlessly wandering;

Loosed from its moorings;

Digging one’s own grave;

A mortal weeping for Self;

Shifting endless moods;

Wearing endless faces;

The lot of one with itchy feet,

Whether empty or fully loaded,

Unable to get off the conveyor belt

And no one to pick it up;

A suitcase.

A suitcase and no owner.

"ባለቤት የሌለው ሻንጣ"፣ ነቢይ መኮንን | ©Blue Nile Poems (p.93-94), 2018 by Mitiku Adisu