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 .