Mahmoud Darwish Poems
|81.||The Prison Cell||9/3/2013|
|82.||The Promise Of Liberty||4/16/2014|
|84.||They Would Love To See Me Dead||4/16/2014|
|85.||Think Of Others||9/3/2013|
|86.||Those Who Pass Between Fleeting Words||9/3/2013|
|87.||To A Young Poet||9/3/2013|
|88.||To My End And To Its End...||4/15/2014|
|89.||To My Mother||9/3/2013|
|90.||To Our Land||9/3/2013|
|92.||We Have The Right To Love Autumn||4/16/2014|
|93.||We Journey Towards A Home||4/16/2014|
|94.||Who Am I, Without Exile?||9/3/2013|
|95.||Your Night Is Of Lilac||9/3/2013|
I Come From There
I come from there and I have memories
Born as mortals are, I have a mother
And a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends,
And a prison cell with a cold window.
Mine is the wave, snatched by sea-gulls,
I have my own view,
And an extra blade of grass.
Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words,
And the bounty of birds,
And the immortal olive tree.
I walked this land before the swords
Turned its living body into a laden table.
I come from there. I render the sky unto her mother
When the sky weeps for her mother.
And I weep ...
Here on the slopes of hills, facing the dusk and the cannon of time
Close to the gardens of broken shadows,
We do what prisoners do,
And what the jobless do:
We cultivate hope.
A country preparing for dawn. We grow less intelligent
For we closely watch the hour of victory: