Mahmoud Darwish
I overlook like a balcony on what I want
I overlook on my friends carrying the evening mail
wine and bread
novels and records…
I overlook on a sea gull and on the trucks of soldiers
changing the trees of this place
I overlook on the dog of my neighbor who emigrated
from Canada a year and a half ago…
I overlook on the name Abu al-Tayyib al-Mutanabbi
who traveled from Tiberius to Egypt
on the horse of song
I overlook on the Persian rose that rises up
over the iron fence
I overlook like a balcony on what I want
I overlook on the trees that guard the night from itself
and guard the sleep of those who want me dead…
I overlook on the wind searching for its homeland
in itself…
I overlook on a woman sunbathing within herself…
I overlook over the procession of ancient prophets
climbing barefoot to Jerusalem
I ask: Is there a new prophet
for this new time?
I overlook like a balcony on what I want
more
I overlook on my image fleeing from itself
to the stone staircase, carrying my mother’s scarf
trembling in the wind: What would happen, were I to return
to childhood? And I to you…and you to me
I overlook on the trunk of an olive tree that hid Zakariyya
I overlook on words that have died out in Lisan al-Arab
I overlook on the Persians, the Byzantines, the Sumerians
and the new refugees…
I overlook on the necklace of one of the poor women of Tagore
ground beneath the carriage of the handsome prince…
I overlook on a hoopoe sapped from the king’s reprimand
I overlook on metaphysics:
What will happen…What will happen after the ashes?
I overlook on my body, afraid, from a distance…
I overlook like a balcony on what I want
I overlook on my language, two days later
A short absence is enough
for Aeschylus to open the door to peace
A short speech is enough
for Antonio to incite war
A hand of a woman in my hand
is enough
to embrace my freedom
for the ebb and flow to begin anew in my body
I overlook like a balcony on what I want
I overlook on my ghost
coming
from
a distance…