The Bridge Poem by Khalil Hawi

Sufficient unto me are the children of my peers,
For in their love I have proviant and wine.
Sufficient unto me is the harvest of the fields,
And the harvest festival,
A festival recurring
Whenever a new lamp is lit in the village.
Not to the dead do I offer my love,
With its perfume and gold, its treasure and wine,
For their offspring is born as an aged bat.
Where is he who will destroy, who will revive and renew?
who will make that child anew,
Wash him in oil and surphur,
In stinkig pus?
Where is he who will destroy, who will revive and renew?
Who will create a young eagle from the offspring of slaves?
The child, showing no trace of its parentage,
Has repudiated both father and mother.
Why is it that our house is split in two?
And that the sea flows between the old and new ?
A cry, the shattering of wombs,
The tearing apart of veils.
How can we remain beneath a single roof?
When there are seas between us, and walls, deserts of cold ash,
And ice?
When are we to break out of the pit and prison?
And when, o lord, are we to be strong and build with our own hands
Our new, free house?
They cross the bridge at dawn, light-footed,
My ribs laid out before them, a solid bridge.
They cross from the caverns and swamps of the old east
into the new,
My ribs laid out before them a solid bridge.
They will pass on while you remain,
An idol left by the soothsayers for the wind to lash and burn,
An idol empty-handed, crucified in solitude,
In snowy nights with ashen horizon,
In fiery ashes with bread of ash,
An idol with frozen tears in sleepless nights,
Greeted by the morning with the daily news,
pored over and consumed.
They will pass on while you remain,
Empty-handed, crucified in solitude.
O owl pecking at my breast, be still.
What does the owl of history want of me?
In my chests there are treasure that never perish.
My joy in the sustenance i gave
Out of the very core of my life
Is the joy of hands that give,
Is a faith and a recollection.
I have wine and a buring coal,
I have the children of my peers,
And in their love I have proviant and wine.
Sufficient unto me is the harvest of the fields,
And the harvest festival.
I shall not fear you, o returning snows,
For when you come,
I shall have wine and a burning coal.