This ungrateful city speaks slowly , not out of shyness
because of her short garments , but because its suitcase is overburdened with
blood. Bitterly I have been crying since
the time I saw her. I cry for my dear trees , for Iam a man from the wild , a
man who knows the sounds of animals but not pure like them . Thus bears are not
coarse or brown , but soft and rosy balloons. As well , an owl is not blind or ominous , but it has a silver
heart through which she sees the truth .
If only you know how friendly she is! She used to talk to me about the stories
of the ancestors. Rootless and homeless Iam now . I used to live in a warm
cottage over a tree.. I used to smile .. to laugh in the morning.. and I used
to sit cheerfully by a pool whose name I no longer remember. For this city slapped me with her
hard hands and made me forget every beautiful thing. I forgot my colour and
voice. A dumb man now I am , with no
colour, with no voice and with no tale. A
very sad man now Iam . I never know anything about the spring
and I never remember my dear
trees .
* Translated by : Fathia Asfour , Palestinian poet & translator .
