Palestinian Poetry Blogging

We Journey Towards A Home

We journey towards a home not of our flesh. Its chestnut trees are not of
our bones.
Its rocks are not like goats in the mountain hymn. The pebbles' eyes are
not lilies.
We journey towards a home that does not halo our heads with a special sun.
Mythical women applaud us. A sea for us, a sea against us.
When water and wheat are not at hand, eat our love and drink our tears...
There are mourning scarves for poets. A row of marble statues will lift our voice.
And an urn to keep dust of time away from our souls. Roses for us and
against us.
You have your glory, we have ours. Of our home we see only the unseen:
our mystery.
Glory is ours: a throne carried on feet torn by roads that led to every home
but not our own!
The soul must recognize itself in its very soul, or die here.

From Fewer Roses (1986) by Mahmoud Darwish

Translated by Munir Akash and Carolyn Forché