Trees






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 .