For The Agonies of The Palestinians
A look for today,
a look for tomorrow.
Roots, in mischiefs of the past,
keep growing, endless sorrow.
My son, bullet in your leg
and your hands so warm.
Blood, dried in your hair,
no water, how can I comb?
Pits are so shallow,
Oh – your father is shot.
Sister harshly was taken;
Night gloomy and connection is cut.
Alleys, earthy and narrow;
broken doors, covered with dust.
But how can a young man
bear a life “missed from the just”?
Exists no food, no drugs,
martial law dragging so long.
Exhaustion, marasmus, disease,
clock’s hands running so wrong.
What has been growing,
love, is reduced.
Empty breasts to suck,
all babies are cruelly accused.
Hatred in your heart,
with flaming fire copes.
Wounded white pigeons
hanging from flimsy old ropes.
Pains and agonies reflexed
from the depth of your eyes.
How can I resist
all these, consecutive sighs?
I wipe your tears
all night and the rise.
How can I wipe but hatred,
from the depth of your eyes?
Farah Notash
Vienna, February 2003F
Book6
www.farah-notash.com
