Darwish.

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.

Translated by Ali Harb

She has not come. I said: And she will not… So

I will rearrange the evening appropriately 

for my disappointment,

and her absence:

I snuffed out the fire of her candles,

turned on the electric lights,

drank her glass of wine and broke it. 

I switched the music of fast violins 

with Persian songs.

I said: She will not come. I will take off 

the elegant necktie to be comfortable.

I wear blue pajamas. I walk barefooted, 

if I want. I sit on her pillow,

so that I forget her. 

And I forget all the things of absence.

I returned all I had prepared

of tools for our party.

And I opened all my windows and curtains.

No secret in my body in front of the night,

except what I waited for,

and what I lost.

I mocked my obsession with cleaning the air for her.

I had scented it with roses, water and lemon.

She will not come…

I will remove the orchids from the right to the left side

to punish her  

for her forgetfulness.

I covered the mirror with a raincoat,

so as not to see the reflection of her picture and regret.

I said: I will forget what I had paraphrased for her

from old poetry. She doesn’t deserve a poem,

even if it were stolen. 

I ate my fast meal, standing. 

And I read a chapter from a school book 

about our faraway planets.

And I wrote, to forget her, a poem;

This poem.