Ghassan Zaqtan Poems

The birds' departure from his heart
leaves the plains white
where the story is white
...

Is there still time
to tell her,
Mother,
...

The cart:
still lurches on since grandfather fled
the boggy fields
The family:
...

He has to return to shut that window,
it isn't entirely clear
whether this is what he must do,
things are no longer clear
...

I ascend the seven levels
Of sleep
In sleep you are
...

How I wish he had not died
in last Wednesday's raid
as he strolled through Nazlat al-Bir —
my friend with blond hair,
...

I must leave this town:
a town where the sun never shines on me,
where there's never any shade,
...

Four sisters
climb the hill alone
in black clothes.
Four sisters sigh
...

How clear it was the singing of the Moroccans who were swimming
on the river's face before sunset, the women who leaned on the bridge
among their children and vegetable baskets and tombs of saints…
...

In the year two thousand or a little before, there maybe was
a prelude that inhabited me, it resembled summer
in the rooms of bachelors,
...