Layla Wa Tawba #26 Poem by Hussein Barghouthi

(Tawba had no land - it was said the morning is his -
He had no grave - it was said death, like the wind, resides in his house -
He had not even a bomb
To clear the debts, and wasn't, neither, a Lark
To fly, nor a wave to become, and Tawba wasn't either a god
To forgive what had been done by the dumpster-moment)

They hung him on a fig in a night by a firm rope.
They left two shots in his mouth:
A shot in place of the pone,
And another in place of the word.
And for that he lurks in a morning that never arrives
Like the whispers of oranges to water-moons.

Say that Tawba is of the signs of the path,
And has no heritage,
(For the land is god's, he bequeaths it to whomever he wishes)and Tawba… revelation is his
He bequeaths it to whomever he wishes, so beatitude
To who was a thread for who
Sews wool blouses to whom
Cross the ice towards
The upcoming humanity.
Beatitude to who inherits revelation and Tawba, beatitude to who kissed him
Beatitude to who taught the heart to endure knives, and whom
Experiences have crushed
Like wheat until he became bread and beatitude to who
Almost discovered flowers in the dumpster

So tell all the details, Layla… stand,
An elder with a clear face, unknown among the fields, your hands on your stick
Layla, stand…
And tell all the details and when
The worms eat through the stick
The stem of wheat walks to you
Say: "these distant stars are Tawba these stars
Layla and Tawba! …"

Epilogue:

It was said that Tawba said:
My desire to live sweeps me.
In every trunk of a tree they implanted
A piece of my thigh's flesh and my face with a silver pin
Or a metal thread,
And on every wave or stone is a splash of my blood.

And on the Wailing Wall
I was left like a print of green ink or a tear,
And on the legs of a nude female sprinkling wheat and sunlight
I will gasp like a grass that was startled by a drop of dew.
My desire in gathering myself again sweeps me,
After I have become vain.
And on a black rock in the ground of Mecca
My lips have imprinted their mark.
And in a lapse of total sadness under the round moon I will arise,
Through the hole of a flute
And walk besides the god
One and united once again.

Through moonlit mountains my days pass
As grey deer jumping around like echo
And vanish,
And in the chalice of black coffee at times I sense myself,
Or in the sound of a key and lock behind me during sleep,
And at times the grandeur overflows
When the Milky Way revolves around itself,
And by the window I remain standing
Like a spear with a skull on its tip.
And with no thrill, my body
And I whistle of tiredness or maybe my hand has too little for its capacity.
And now my desire collects me
To withdraw myself once again
For it has leaked away like water
Or spread in the universe like a net
Its beginning in my hand,
But the rest I cannot see.
I wish to collect it once again
On my shoulders like a frond of palm, or carry it
Like a female that carried me in her belly
Before I was exiled into the mainland of life.

And on top of an old house,
Where the stars intertwine,
I spin around like a wild tiger to and fro.
And in the roads of the city
Where abandoned yellow lights hunt
Little tigers,
I bark,
And my desire for vengeance barks
I bite the prison; lock, wires and door.

And now my desire to lay myself out in form of soft-blue silk on
A path on which others walk
"and lesser roses",
Is all I aspire to.
Behind me I drag the past;
A green-shadow horse on a moonlit path
My regret a bell
Rocking on the neck of the horse,
And no god nor pardon.
I walk in the spikes like a blind man and my sadness my stick
Everything futility
In exile, futility
Even my sky
And a path on which millions of corpses before me walked
Like me,
And my hands disapprove of my actions
And the night leaves me to complete another line of poetry…

- And you are my boy
And together we shall create a new axis
For the movement of things in exile..
So hear my singing: Layla and Tawba…



Hussein Barghouthi - 1992

extract: Layla wa Tawba: Poems from exile to Layla l'Akhyaliyya