Poem

“Lines Without A Home”

Translation: Raphael Cohen

the closest people are those I love to ridicule
but never would
maybe because I worry for them
from the gloating of others


the whale thinks he’s so big
but in the sea
he’s tiny


dear sea, you really are great
you spit us out to our country
whenever we drown in its love


even so
when the river commits suicide in the sea
the fish long for fresh water


the day we die, the death living
within us will die


because the shadow is truly faithful
when we’re put in the grave it no longer stands up
but sleeps next to us


my poems, you too will inevitably die
but still I will write
in the hope, albeit slim, that you will live
after me


enough!
death says to the tyrannical
I’m full up


in every death there is another life
but don’t let your ideas run away with you
Mr Believer


what’s this obsession?
I speak about death in all my poems
although its time will only really come
in the final poem


to be a ’48 Palestinian means
being the strangest citizen in the world:
you beg all the world’s states to protect you
from your state


every cloud has a silver lining:
in the light of the fire burning us
moths live at night


the problem of man: the justice he sees
others don’t see
and vice versa


Salafism
beautiful idea
but terrible when adopted by fools


apologies Ziad Rahbani:
hunger isn’t a kafir
hunger is creative

Lebanese musician born in 1956. The song “I’m not a kafir, hunger is a kafir” is from his 1985 album Ani Mish Kafir (I’m not a kafir).


despite the sun’s action on the skin
the beggar’s hand
stays pure white


in the past we opened the gates of Syria to gypsies
let them return the favour
and open their country to us, now we’re migrant gypsies


a black crow in the snow is more beautiful
than every dove of peace
in the speeches of politicians


the flu has benefits
including gaining the sympathy
and concern of your family


excuse me, water,
when I pour you in a glass, I don’t mean to trap you
in fact I’m just like you
I want to live


why do we fear weapons
that do nothing
without us


sectarian, whenever the cross round your neck
gets bigger, it gets smaller inside you.
same with the crescent


we may not change the world with what we write
but we may shame it


they partitioned my homeland into two states
and it emigrated


hyenas don’t assassinate hyenas
O mankind


onboard a boat in a gale
we strike the waves with the oars
so they calm down


after a long absence, I see you and shed tears
like after a long night the sun rises
and the ice weeps


even if westerners really robbed easterners
they would not be able to plunder
the sight of the sun shining


only before You
we aren’t ashamed to take off our clothes
O God


in order for me to write poetry that isn’t
political, I must listen to the birds
and in order to hear the birds
the warplanes must be silent

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