Rising

“(And) [I am] rising towards the convergence of the dream
Seats shrivel under my trees and your shadow…
(And) those who mount on your wounds like seasonal flies disappear
(And) those who watch your wounds disappear
So bear me in mind before I fail to remember thy hands!
And my interpretations to the butterflies
Rocks are my letters on earth
Troy is not my house
and “Massada” isn’t my time
(And) I rise from the aridness of bread and the impounded water
from a horse that got lost on the way to the airport
and from the sea breeze , I rise
from the slivers addicted to my body
(And) I rise from the eyes of those coming to the sunset of the champaign
I rise from the vegetables boxes
and the might of things I rise
I belong to my first sky and to the peasants in every alley
singing”



Mahmud Darweesh

paper stock: seed stock [link]