Hashem Siddiq wrote (The End) the day he lost (The Secret of Clay) and got lost in war – Race in Politics – ✍️ Al-Tarifi Abu Naba
Today we cry for the past… the homes of the team… everything around us summons our sorrows in a moment of weakness for a life that carried Hashem Siddiq to his final resting place… and we cry and crying makes us cry tired… I wish that tears would wash away our sadness… and that (dirt) would cling to us and that sins would cover our features… we cry for childhood oppressed and everything… The women of my country who have been manipulated by the fate of turning into widows and the mourners sing With sadness… we cry and deplore our situation… and we write (The End) This is not the poem that was the beginning of his revolution in the world of writing, but the end of the homeland whose sufferings have been dispersed. upon us (a strange day) where the meanings and letters were martyred on the day the war tore apart (Hachem), and he was moved and displaced, even from his house (The Clay) and from the jealousy in which he documented his. revolutionary life before depositing it in (the epic) which carried it without consideration in a phenomenon transmitted by international channels. As he rides on Caro's back far from home, he is not humiliated, but rather impressed and frightened by “The Secret of Clay”, which has for decades become the story of a homeland who does not fear (the heat and the rain) and does not fear (the Qarnatiya)… and Hashim, who died writing and documenting (On the Exit Gate) the life of the Trablah… fights against Yes, his friends (between the court and Woodselvab )… Hashem, who now rests in his grave, saw the story of his life while he was awake (asleep) for fear of tragedy. The country… tells its stories to generations (I saw my father in a dream), a defiant reader of reality and waiting for the answer after he (those humiliated) died with the grief of the homeland before.. . and before.. (and we will pray to you, oh morning, salvation is present… and we open the book of sorrows… from beginning to end… and we ask ourselves: Who is this? benefits.? Who is the loser…? is Al-Maktoul… Who is the conscience of the world… On the day of the events, he was stigmatized… and was he responsible for it Who is responsible for the torment of our intellectuals and those who? rewarded them with death? Hachem died since his departure, carried on his shoulders, sick and leaning on his sorrows in Karo a year ago Hachem's death was not due to illness, but rather. to the sorrow that made a tear flow in leaving Babant's house after the stones and attacks which tried to shake his determination and disperse his revolutionary project… I remember, when we began our journalistic work, one of the Lamdurmans. colleagues took me. I knew his story and his name, but he didn't actually know it… He told me that there had been a surprise and he knew how much I admired Hashim Siddiq, whom we read in the newspaper (Al- Sahafa) and was waiting for a poem every week to celebrate it… He knew that we had moved with our feet (Hafeet) in search of the forum whose guest was Hashim Siddiq… My friend took me to a house spacious with an old bedroom jealousy We didn't know until we were inside after pushing the ajar wooden door. The surprise was that the one who received us, Hashem Siddiq, who was at the time “isolated” by order of the government, only woke up through poetry and poems, traveling between clubs and centers of youth and in the streets that we miss today. in Khartoum, tents were set up and chairs were arranged to celebrate a new poem… I was not sure of Hashem's traits at that moment, I told myself that my friend was lying to me and that We weren't expected to be surprised. At that time, I had not spoken about it to Hachem, who hesitated to host our newspaper, so that we would lose each step towards… Save the pride of his conversation… and Hachem is a friend who does not shy away from the “journey” of the poem, haunted by creativity. We witnessed this at a party on Scorpion Square, I think. At the inauguration of the “I am Sudan” Party. At that moment, Hachem was attacked by the shouts of the Sawari men who tried to disrupt the evening, and Hachem stood behind the microphone without moving as he did so. He sang verses from Kaqat Akhdar, which made us applaud, and among us was Azhari. And Mahjoub Sharif with his family, Al-Qadal, and the campaign of flight of the inhabitants of Al-Sawari… Today, Hachem is gone, and his testaments are poems and songs for the homeland.
You learn
You sing your songs
And in your throat
Dust and pain
And you learn, bless you
Fire
And you dreamed
Cold and dark
And you learn and you die
And live like you are
Something is incomplete
And nothing more
And you didn't make a mistake…
Sleep on our prayers in the isthmus of the second life with Hamid, Al-Qadal and Mustafa, and we will live what was written for us, preserving the homeland and not forgetting that you are a homeland, a love and a story, even in the future. you miss it…..
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