The ETHIOPIAN CHURCH Journal

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; Loose...

Top left to right: 1/ played ganna 2/ plowed 3/ left parents' home 4/ recruited into Imperial Guard 5/ joined the Guard 6/ trained to run Marathon 7/ traveled to England 8/ run a race 9/ took first 10/ flew back 11/ greeted public 12/ His Majesty pinned a medal 

Landscape, Untitled, Undated : Gebre-Kristos Desta Evening Sun  Tiptoeing roofs of neighboring hamlets,   Caressing the crown of the knoll,   See the setting sun glide by up above   And man here below;  See her leave him behind   Spent and laboring so.    Poet: Gebre-Kristos Desta  | የማታ ጀምበር | Translator: Mitiku Adisu, © 2019   ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 

O Bird of Paradise BY FIKRE TOLOSSA   TRANSLATOR: MITIKU ADISU O bird of paradise, My good fortune, my sustenance, Blessed among bird species – Sing to me, I’m downcast; I am worn-out by the gripe; My ears are longing for lovely tune, My soul, my mind, my spirit too; From song-filled chest, a refrain, And make my wishes come true. Born to chirp, chant and chatter, You craft and dish out melody For the pleasure of humanity; O guileless bird, Like the very sun, you light up each; Your wine you lavish, on the just, the fiendish; You sing so charitably, boulders softened, The rains are gone, the sky has cleared, The scorched earth once again green, Heart of barbarians now less mean, The frenzied, serene; Sing to me, little bard, Sweeten life’s bitter years, Ring out your voice from mesa to mesa And dry my tears. © Blue Nile Poems, 2018, p.113 TRANSLATOR’S NOTE: This ode was originally composed in 23 stanzas and titled, Woffa-Yared (ወፈ ያሬድ). First three stanzas are sampled here. Yared (...