Mahmoud Darwish 

 

RITA AND THE RIFLE

Between Rita and my eyes
There is a rifle
And whoever knows Rita
Kneels and pray
To the divinity in those honey-colored eyes

And I kissed Rita
When she was young
And I remember how she approached
And how my arm covered the loveliest of braids
And I remember Rita
The way a sparrow remembers its stream
Ah, Rita
Between us there are a million sparrows and images
And many a rendezvous
Fired at by a rifle

Rita’s name was a feast in my mouth
Rita’s body was a wedding in my blood
And I was lost in Rita for two years
And for two years she slept on my arm
And we made promises
Over the most beautiful of cups
And we burned in the wine of our lips
And we were born again

Ah, Rita!
What before this rifle could have turned my eyes from yours
Except a nap or two or honey-colored clouds?
Once upon a time
Oh, the silence of dusk
In the morning my moon migrated to a far place
Towards those honey-colored eyes
And the city swept away all the singers
And Rita

Between Rita and my eyes--
A rifle

 

 

 

Promises of the Storm

 

So be it
I can assure you that I will refuse death

And burn the, tears of the bleeding songs
And strip the olive trees
Of ill their counterfeit branches

If I have been serenading happiness

Somewhere beyond the eyelids of frightened eyes
That is because the storm

Promised me wine and new toasts
And rainbows
Because the storm

Swept away the voices of idiotic, obedient birds
And swept away the counterfeit branches
From the trunks of standing trees

So be it
I must be proud of you
Oh wounded city

You are lightning in our sad night
When the street frowns at me
You protect me from the shadows
And the looks of hatred

I will go on serenading happiness
Somewhere beyond the eyelids of frightened eyes

For from the time the storm begin to rage in my country
It has promised me wine and rainbows

 

 

 

THOSE WHO PASS FLEETING WORDS

0 those who pass between fleeting words carry your names, and be gone
Rid our time of yours, and be gone
Steal what you will from the blueness of the sea and the sand of memory
Take what pictures you will, so that you understand That which you never will:
How a stone from our land builds the ceiling of our sky.

0 those who pass between fleeting words
From you the sword--from us the blood
From you steel and fire--from us our flesh
From you Yet another tank--from us atones
From you tear gas--from us rain
above us, as above you, are sky and air
So take your share of our blood--and be gone
GO to a dancing party--and be gone
As for us, we have to water the martyrs' flowers
As for us, we have to live as we see fit.

So leave our country
Our land, our sea
Our wheat, our salt, our wounds
Everything, and leave
The memories of memory
those who pass between fleeting words!

 

 

 

THE VIOLINS - AL KAMANJAAT

 

The violins weep with the Gypsies heading for Andalusia,
the violins cry for the Arabs departing Andalusia.

The violins cry for a lost epoch that will not return,
The violins cry for a lost homeland that could be regained.
The violins burn the forests of the far darkness
the violins wound the horizon, and smell the blood in my veins.

The violins are horses on a string of phantoms, and water groaning,
the violins are a field of wild lilac that move forward and backward.

The violins are a beast tortured by the nails of a woman
who touches and then move away, the violins are an army that builds a grave of marble and melodies.

The violins are the anarchy of hearts picked up by the
wind on a dancer's foot, the violins are flocks of birds seeking shade under an incomplete banner.

The violins are the complaints of the curled silk on a passionate night,
the violins are the effect of wine denied to an earlier thirst.

The violins follow me, here and there, to avenge me,
the violins are searching to kill me, wherever they find me.

Me violins cry for the Arabs departing Andalusia,
the violins weep with the Gypsies heading for Andalusia.

 

 

 

THE PIGEONS FLY

 

the pigeons come down...

Prepare a place for me to rest.
I love you unto weariness,
your morning is fruit for songs
and this evening is precious gold
the shadows are strong as marble.
When I see myself,
it is hanging upon a neck that embraces only the clouds,
you are the air that undresses in front of me like tears of the grape,
you are the beginning of the family of waves held by the shore.
I love you, you are the beginning of my soul, and you are the end...
the pigeons fly
the pigeons come down...

I am for my lover I am. And my lover is for his wandering star
Sleep my love
on you my hair braids, peace be with you...
the pigeons fly
the pigeons come down...

Oh, my love, where are you taking me away from my parents,
from my trees, small bed and from my weariness,
from my visions, from my light, from my memories and pleasant evenings,
from my dress and my shyness,
where are you taking me my love, where?
You take me, set me on fire, and then leave me
in the vain path of the air
that is a sin ... that is a sin...
the pigeons fly
the pigeons come down...

My love, I fear the silence of your hands.
Scratch my blood so the horse can sleep.
My love, female birds fly to you
take me as a wife and breathe.
My love I will stay and breasts will grow for you
The guards take me out of your way
my love, I will cry upon you, upon you, upon you.
because you are die surface of my sky.
My body is the land,
the place for you...
the pigeons fly
the pigeons come down...

 

 

 

OH MY FATHER, I AM YUSUF (JOSEPH)

 

Oh my father, I am Yusuf
Oh father, my brothers neither love me nor want me in their midst
They assault me and cast stones and words at me
They want me to die so they can eulogize me
They closed the door of your house and left me outside
They expelled me from the field
Oh my father, they poisoned my grapes
They destroyed my toys
When the gentle wind played with my hair, they were jealous
They flamed up with rage against me and you
What did I deprive them of, Oh my father?
The butterflies stopped on my shoulder
The bird hovered over my hand
What have I done, Oh my father?
Why me?
You named me Yusuf and they threw me into the well
They accused the wolf
The wolf is more merciful than my brothers
Oh, my father
Did I wrong anyone when I said that
I saw eleven stars and the sun and the moon
Saw them kneeling before me ?

 

 

Mount Carmel is in us

We do not need to be reminded:
Mount Carmel is in us
and on our eyelashes the grass of Galilee.
Do not say: If we could run to her like a river.
Do not say it:
We and our country are one flesh and bone.

Before June we were not fledgeling doves
so our love did not wither in bondage.
Sister, these twenty years
our work was not to write poems
but to be fighting.

The shadow that descends over your eyes
-demon of a God
who came out of the month of June
to wrap around our heads the sun-
his color is martyrdom
the taste of prayer.
How well he kills, how well he resurrects!

The night that began in your eyes-
in my soul it was a long night's end:
Here and now we keep company
on the road of our return
from the age of drought.

And we came to know what makes the voice of the nightingale
a dagger shining in the face of the invaders.
We came to know what makes the silence of the graveyard
a festival...orchards of life.

You sang your poems, I saw the balconies
desert their walls
the city square extending to the midriff of the mountain:
It was not music we heard.
It was not the color of words we saw:
A million heroes were in the room.

This land absorbs the skins of martyrs.
This land promises wheat and stars.
Worship it!
We are its salt and its water.
We are its wound, but a wound that fights.

Sister, there are tears in my throat
and there is fire in my eyes:
I am free.
No more shall I protest at the Sultan's Gate.
All who have died, all who shall die at the Gate of Day
have embraced me, have made of me a weapon.

Ah my intractable wound!
My country is not a suitcase
I am not a traveler
I am the lover and the land is the beloved.

The archaeologist is busy analyzing stones.
In the rubble of legends he searches for his own eyes
to show
that I am a sightless vagrant on the road
with not one letter in civilization's alphabet.
Meanwhile in my own time I plant my trees.
I sing of my love.

It is time for me to exchange the word for the deed
Time to prove my love for the land and for the nightingale:
For in this age the weapon devours the guitar
And in the mirror I have been fading more and more
Since at my back a tree began to grow.

MY MOTHER

I long for my mother's bread
My mother's coffee
Her touch
Childhood memories grow up in me
Day after day
I must be worth my life
At the hour of my death
Worth the tears of my mother

And If I come back one day
Take me as a veil to your eyelashes
Cover my bones with the grass
Blessed by your footsteps
Bind us together
With a lock of your hair

With a thread that trails from the back of your dress
I might become immortal
Become a god
If I touch the depths of your heart

If I come back
Use me as wood to feed your fire
As the clothesline on the roof of your house
Without your blessing
I am too weak to stand
I am old

Give me back the star maps of childhood
So that I
Along with the swallows
Can chart the path
Back to your waiting nest