As a part of its continuing effort to share a portion of the literary wealth of Arabic poetry with the English reader, The Arab American News translates a poem by the legendary Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish.

Darkness. I fell on the bed, touched by a question:

Where am I? I looked for my body, so I felt it

looking for me. And I looked for the light switch to see

what is happening to me. I tripped over the chair,

so I toppled it, and it fell me, on something I don’t know.

Like a blind man, looking with his fingers I looked for the wall,

leaning on it, so I hit the closet. I opened it,

so my hand touched clothes. I smelled them, so I found my scent.

I realized that I am in a part of a world that belonged to me and separated

me, and I separated from it. I kept looking for 

the light switch to see if that was correct,

so I found it. I recognized my things: This is my bed,

and this is my book, and this is my bag, and that person

in the pajamas is almost me. I opened the window

and heard the barking of dogs from the valley. But

I did not remember when I returned, and I don’t remember

that I stopped over the bridge.  I thought I was dreaming.  I were here

and I’m not here. I washed my face with cold water and made sure

of my consciousness. I walked to the kitchen and saw fresh fruit

and unwashed dishes that indicate that I had 

dinner here. But when did that happen? I went through

the passport, so I found out that I arrived today, without

remembering that I traveled. Did some schizophrenia occur

in my memory? Did my psychological existence separate 

from my physiological existence? I got scared…And called 

a friend at a late night hour: I am suffering a dysfunction in

memory… Where am I? He said: You’re in Ramallah.

I asked him: When did I come? He said: Today, and we

were together in the afternoon in Vatche’s Garden. I asked:

Why don’t I remember? Do you think I am ill? He said: that happens

with ailing people of a different kind: 

Those suffering nostalgia to forgetfulness.