From fragments of children in a shadeforsaken camp
Concentrated especially for infant rest, there beyond the separation fence,
To anxiety victims who trod protected avenues to the local
Grocery that has declared a seasonal sale
Of aged tears: For every hundred you give to the neighbors, get
One tear for yourself, for free,
*
From the heart that is steeled towards the heart that is stilled and a fate that is sealed
On heaps of nameless dreams, to another package of deterrence
At a bargain price, obtained by the minister in charge
Of subsidized targets, once more,
*
From the myriad flag colors to the myriad word colors spilled
At streetsides in orange, red, white and blue,
To children’s blood smeared on clods of fertile earth, like
Death, in the East,
*
From wrinkles of clouds that have retreated from the galloping sun
Disengaged from the wayward, proud, generous and fierce horizon,
To the silence hovering over the graves of the children of this land
Who grew to the glory of the homeland, Israel-Palestine,
All around,
*
Into the back yard I will again cast one last
Polished and thoroughly perplexed glance.
And when it returns it will recount its adventures to my heart,
Like a dovecote of soul. This is the tree, under which you have sat,
That has stripped off its leaves and is no longer the refuge
That shaded from the heat. It is the wind that has forgotten
To bring its clouds to this land and will not return to play in
The clotheslines readied on the balcony for a winter
To come – nu, let it come! – It is the mountain
That for years has maintained a green face, on its summit
A yellowing torch that is fruitless and fading.
*
And if so, who will utter in public the prayer of a
Man to the heart of impervious Heaven? Till when
Will the cry in the womb of the earth that is teeming
And grieving over this yellow evil still be restrained?
*
Nonetheless, if you’d like an enlightened tale, to shine
A light unto the nations, there is one, only one, who
Knows how to ease all at once the muscles
Of bleakness gripping this drought-stricken land.
*
And if this is the case when you set out to seek
The one who will light a fine bonfire to shine in the
Ruined field, for a robbers’ romp, just write down one
Commandment, one thought. Or write, in huge letters, the
Following message onto the wall:
Only Salman who diligently and in colloquial
Biblical language digs more new graves
Is the man who properly understands
Both Arabic and Hebrew.
For Salman, gentlemen, is
Not a poet, a leader.
February, 2008
Translated by Vivian Eden
http://salmaghari-en.blogspot.com/2009/02/one-man-one-vote.html