Mahmoud Darwish Poems

Between Rita and my eyes
There is a rifle
And whoever knows Rita
Kneels and plays
To the divinity in those honey-colored eyes.
And I kissed Rita
...

Who am I to say to you
what I say to you?
I was not a stone polished by water
and became a face
nor was I a cane punctured by the wind
and became a flute...

I am a dice player,
...

I have a seat in the abandoned theater
in Beirut. I might forget, and I might recall
the final act without longing … not because of anything
other than that the play was not written
skillfully …
...

He embraces his murderer.
May he win his heart: Do you feel angrier if I survive?
...

The enemy who drinks tea in our hovel
has a horse in smoke, a daughter with
...

With dynamite she raps her waist…
She explodes…
...

I am a woman. No more and no less
I live my life as it is
thread by thread
and I spin my wool to wear, not
to complete Homer's story, or his sun.
...

A passenger on the bus says…
nothing impresses me.
...

I see what I want in the farm ... right now I see
braids of wheat combed by the wind, and I close my eyes
...

This land gives us
all that makes life worth living:
April's blushing advances,
the aroma of bread at dawn,
a woman's haranguing of men,
the poetry of Aeschylus,
...