Palestinian Poetry Blogging

They Would Love To See Me Dead

They would love to see me dead, to say: He belongs to us, he is ours.
For twenty years I heard their footsteps on the walls of night
They open no doors, yet they are now. I see three of them:
a poet, killer and a reader of books
Will you have some wine? I asked.
Yes, they answered.
When do you plan to shoot me? I asked.
Take it easy, they answered.
They line up their glasses all in a row and started singing for the people.
I asked: When will you begin my assassination?
Already done, they said...Why did you send your shoes on ahead of your soul?
So it can wander the face of the earth, I said.
The earth is wickedly dark, so why your poem so white?
Because my heart is teeming with thirty seas, I answered.
They ask: Why do you love French wine?
Because I ought to love the most beautiful women, I answered.
They asked: How would you like your death?
Blue like the stars, pouring from a window-would you like some more wine?
Yes, we'll drink, they said
Please take your time. I want you to kill me slowly so I can write my last
poem to my heart's wife. They laughed, and took from me
only the words dedicated to my heart's wife.

From Fewer Roses (1986) by Mahmoud Darwish

Translated by Munir Akash and Carolyn Forché