When the farmer strikes the earth with the hoe
the plants delight
while the sky feels for its sister the earth
and weeps.
*
On the orange tree
a thousand thousand suns
*
A minor question:
Who will eat the worms that
will one day eat me up?
*
Why in the run up to Eid, that is all good,
do my brother Alaa’s sheep look scared?
*
My shadow has a shadow ... of man.
*
Sometimes
picking the fruit
from a tree tended by your parents for you
is harder than sowing the seed.
*
In Suffurriye
behind the pine crags
the figs are still in fruit
as their owner in Nazareth should know.
*
A people mad about sad songs
is a people with a culture
that time forgot.
*
In old age
the elderly look for the neighbourhood of the dead
where all their friends reside.
*
Some live to run away from death
there are also those who shun life
in the hope that death will run away.
*
The voice of the ruler is hushed
for if he addresses me loudly
I don’t understand.
*
History is written with a red pen
put in the draw of a vindictive ruler
like Natanso-and-so.
*
Yes Hitler
Perhaps you were bad at dominoes
You played the Jew
but I didn’t go.
*
The Zionists who cling to their faraway past have taught me
that one may be nostalgic for a past
still present, still.
*
Because you are glorious, Upper Galilee
I settled in your Maalot.
*
Going on and on
is the brain haemorrhage
of conversation.
*
Nomen isn’t necessarily omen
so we should be named
at thirty.
*
I dare to write about every sensitive subject
but I’m too much of a coward to shout out loud
in a deserted street.
*
The truest things I’ve written about myself
I erased.
*
The hero is weak,
the dustman weak, the hermit weak, and even the poet
is weak before you, woman.
*
The fastest means of transport to you
is produced locally
and modelled on my feelings.
*
In your absence I miss you
When you return I miss
missing you more.
*
I don’t see anything at sunset
except a sunrise
coming out of the hope.
*
The moon
no more than a red pita
day forgot on the burner of night.
*
My apologies, Newton,
it wasn’t gravity that made the apple fall
but the earth out of longing
for its children.
*
Poetry is more honest than the real world
Like admitting for example
that in Tom and Jerry
Jerry is the guilty one.
*
The political situation is a car
driven recklessly by inveterate liars
of inveterate years.
*
The best thing about statues
is they’re naked.
*
The killer and the statue are alike
both are made of stone, but
the statue is harmless.
*
Truth is revealed in dreams
as if it were confessing what it won’t say
in the morning.
*
During the week of mourning, the grief fades a little
while happiness sprouts like
the beards of the bereaved.
*
The prostitute is highly honourable
because she doesn’t hide anything like that hidden
by the pious of the age.
*
Murder is the child of death
born out of wedlock.
*
The aesthetics of autumn:
leaves falling on the pavement as if
passersby.
*
The higher aesthetics of autumn:
God having put it
at the disposal of the other seasons.
*
Lonely oases do not be sad.
Do you not see the horizon revealed
on every side?
*
I and the horizon are rogues
since we both have a rash aim
called its sweep.
*
“To be or not to be”:
a matter in the hands of an F16 pilot.
*
“To be (morally) or not to be”:
a matter settled
to be.
the plants delight
while the sky feels for its sister the earth
and weeps.
*
On the orange tree
a thousand thousand suns
*
A minor question:
Who will eat the worms that
will one day eat me up?
*
Why in the run up to Eid, that is all good,
do my brother Alaa’s sheep look scared?
*
My shadow has a shadow ... of man.
*
Sometimes
picking the fruit
from a tree tended by your parents for you
is harder than sowing the seed.
*
In Suffurriye
behind the pine crags
the figs are still in fruit
as their owner in Nazareth should know.
*
A people mad about sad songs
is a people with a culture
that time forgot.
*
In old age
the elderly look for the neighbourhood of the dead
where all their friends reside.
*
Some live to run away from death
there are also those who shun life
in the hope that death will run away.
*
The voice of the ruler is hushed
for if he addresses me loudly
I don’t understand.
*
History is written with a red pen
put in the draw of a vindictive ruler
like Natanso-and-so.
*
Yes Hitler
Perhaps you were bad at dominoes
You played the Jew
but I didn’t go.
*
The Zionists who cling to their faraway past have taught me
that one may be nostalgic for a past
still present, still.
*
Because you are glorious, Upper Galilee
I settled in your Maalot.
*
Going on and on
is the brain haemorrhage
of conversation.
*
Nomen isn’t necessarily omen
so we should be named
at thirty.
*
I dare to write about every sensitive subject
but I’m too much of a coward to shout out loud
in a deserted street.
*
The truest things I’ve written about myself
I erased.
*
The hero is weak,
the dustman weak, the hermit weak, and even the poet
is weak before you, woman.
*
The fastest means of transport to you
is produced locally
and modelled on my feelings.
*
In your absence I miss you
When you return I miss
missing you more.
*
I don’t see anything at sunset
except a sunrise
coming out of the hope.
*
The moon
no more than a red pita
day forgot on the burner of night.
*
My apologies, Newton,
it wasn’t gravity that made the apple fall
but the earth out of longing
for its children.
*
Poetry is more honest than the real world
Like admitting for example
that in Tom and Jerry
Jerry is the guilty one.
*
The political situation is a car
driven recklessly by inveterate liars
of inveterate years.
*
The best thing about statues
is they’re naked.
*
The killer and the statue are alike
both are made of stone, but
the statue is harmless.
*
Truth is revealed in dreams
as if it were confessing what it won’t say
in the morning.
*
During the week of mourning, the grief fades a little
while happiness sprouts like
the beards of the bereaved.
*
The prostitute is highly honourable
because she doesn’t hide anything like that hidden
by the pious of the age.
*
Murder is the child of death
born out of wedlock.
*
The aesthetics of autumn:
leaves falling on the pavement as if
passersby.
*
The higher aesthetics of autumn:
God having put it
at the disposal of the other seasons.
*
Lonely oases do not be sad.
Do you not see the horizon revealed
on every side?
*
I and the horizon are rogues
since we both have a rash aim
called its sweep.
*
“To be or not to be”:
a matter in the hands of an F16 pilot.
*
“To be (morally) or not to be”:
a matter settled
to be.