State of Mind
I live and my heart goes out to no one.
I feel no sadness
and harm no roses.
Like black grease on a wheel
in the belly of a machine,
all inside me mechanical.
Birds made of rubber in a cage of colored sand
and my face a fountain in winter– flowing
New coldness in the air. I lean
where the “powers” throw me: towards memories
from old cities, or a shop full of words that look like a lit-up bar
where jazz is playing and the customers sleep at the tables.
I pass by, in me the bitterness of a shadow
and my eyes are boredom and metal.
[untitled]
Do not guide me to the moonlit path
daughter of my uncle
The guided must walk the path of the guide
Each must forge his own path.
Do not guide me to the moonlit path
while the flute is on the lips of the mermaid
This is too little–
Guide me to the truth
and leave me silent,
like the mountains of the Galilee.
[untitled]
The waterfalls were forty seven,
all falling in one pool.
The last was pure and foamy
and I followed it.
The waterfalls were forty seven,
all falling in one pool.
The last was like my heart
but I lost it.
[untitled]
We came to crack some songs
Just as we crack almonds
and search there for doves.
We found little stone soldiers
inhabiting words.
[untitled]
Your white fingers pass through my dream
like ten mirrors
where I see my face like a fire without smoke
O my desire for tenderness
Don’t wound my heart!
It happens in my dream that I long for you
and alight in your eyes
like a flock of doves
on a city sidewalk in winter
and I peck at the vibration of light in the puddles and ask:
“O street full of lights! What is the color of the sky?
And why are they dancing? “
“Where can I pass when breast is upon breast?” (Mahmoud Darwish)
Sometimes I dance there, a stranger
among strangers on a street
with snow from the moon
where neon lamps are breasts of glass
washing my face in faded-white light
near ice that had frozen over
ivory fountains.
Do not ask me:
“Why do you like to travel
in the waves of my eyes?”
Fish swim deep
when they sense the coming of a quake
and the trembling of things.
My love of trembling: my search is for my soul
Regardless of the end
Whether a kiss or the guillotine.
So come to me
that I may carry your wild body in my palm
like a compass
and watch you spread
like light upon the ships of words.
From Jadaliyya
[Translated by Amal Eqeiq. With special thanks to Ibrahim Muhawi for editorial assistance.]
Ramallah / Bei Dao
In Jerusalem / Mahmoud Darwish
A Love That Hovers Like a Bedeviling Mosquito / Shatha Abu Hnaish