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O, guarders of vines, drive foxes out...


By Mahmoud Darwish





Still there is on thy saucers remains of honey

Kick out the flies so that you can protect the honey

Still there is on their vines clusters of grapes

O, guarders of vines, drive foxes out,

Therefore, grapes will be ripe healthy.

Still there is at thy houses mat and door

Close up the way of wind away out of thy children

Perhaps they can sleep

Wind is very cold and you should close doors.

Still there is effluent blood in their hearts,

You may keep it and don't throw away

A new fetus is still unborn waiting the dawn

Still there is at thy hearth remains of firewood

Still there is coffee and a bundle of blaze



Promises Of The Storm 


So be it

I can assure you that I will refuse death

And burn the, tears of the bleeding songs

And strip the olive trees

Of ill their counterfeit branches

If I have been serenading happiness

Somewhere beyond the eyelids of frightened eyes

That is because the storm

Promised me wine and new toasts

And rainbows

Because the storm

Swept away the voices of idiotic, obedient birds

And swept away the counterfeit branches

From the trunks of standing trees

So be it

I must be proud of you

Oh wounded city

You are lightning in our sad night

When the street frowns at me

You protect me from the shadows

And the looks of hatred

I will go on serenading happiness

Somewhere beyond the eyelids of frightened eyes

For from the time the storm begin to rage in my country

It has promised me wine and rainbows.



Brand Of Slaves 



Rome is skin to us as if imposed fate

Its name is branded on our backs yet

As prisoners' numbers and scourges that's Rome

Rome dismantles our brands under her want

Unarmed slaves smashed the royal court

Babylon is around our neck,

As branded returning captive prisoners

Attires of tyrant were changed entirely

That he was survived after death.

If they still believe on him, he won't die

We died and lived but the way is the same

Africa at our dancing party is as drum and naked fire

It is as songstress desire nearby the smock of her fire

One day I played pipe fluently of fallen trunks.

I let the snake dancing until sleep

And I threw its canine away

Africa and Asia then shall meet at a new dance.

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