Those Who Pass Between Fleeting Words by Mahmoud Darwish O those who pass between fleeting words Carry your names, and be gone Rid our time of your hours, and be gone Steal what you will from the blueness of the sea and the sand of memory Take what pictures you will, so that you understand That which you never will: How a stone from our land builds the ceiling of our sky. O those who pass between fleeting words From you the sword—from us the blood From you steel and fire—from us our flesh From you yet another tank—from us stones From you tear gas—from us rain Above us, as above you, are sky and air So take your share of our blood—and be gone Go to a dancing party—and be gone As for us, we have to water the martyrs’ flowers As for us, we have to live as we see fit. O those who pass between fleeting words As bitter dust, go where you wish, but Do not pass between us like flying insects For we have work to do in our land: We have wheat to grow which we water with our bodies’ dew We have that which does not please you here: Stones or partridges So take the past, if you wish, to the antiquities market And return the skeleton to the hoopoe, if you wish, On a clay platter We have that which does not please you: we have the future And we have things to do in our land. O those who pass between fleeting words Pile your illusions in a deserted pit, and be gone Return the hand of time to the law of the golden calf Or to the time of the revolver’s music! For we have that which does not please you here, so be gone And we have what you lack: a bleeding homeland of a bleeding people A homeland fit for oblivion or memory O those who pass between fleeting words It is time for you to be gone Live wherever you like, but do not live among us It is time for you to be gone Die wherever you like, but do not die among us For we have work to do in our land We have the past here We have the first cry of life We have the present, the present and the future We have this world here, and the hereafter So leave our country Our land, our sea Our wheat, our salt, our wounds Everything, and leave The memories of memory O those who pass between fleeting words!
Posted on: Tue, 23 Sep 2014 21:46:54 +0000
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