‘PASSPORT’ -A POEM BY MAHMOUD DARWISH !

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“Passport”

They did not recognize me in the
shadows
That suck away my color in this
Passport
And to them my wound was an
exhibit
For a tourist Who loves to collect
photographs
They did not recognize me,
Ah… Don’t leave
The palm of my hand without the
sun
Because the trees recognize me
Don’t leave me pale like the
moon!
All the birds that followed my
palm
To the door of the distant airport
All the wheatfields
All the prisons
All the white tombstones
All the barbed Boundaries
All the waving handkerchiefs
All the eyes
were with me,
But they dropped them from my
passport
Stripped of my name and
identity?
On soil I nourished with my own
hands?
Today Job cried out
Filling the sky:
Don’t make and example of me
again!
Oh, gentlemen, Prophets,
Don’t ask the trees for their
names
Don’t ask the valleys who their
mother is
From my forehead bursts the
sward of light
And from my hand springs the
water of the river
All the hearts of the people are
my identity
So take away my passport!

Mahmoud Darwish.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Advertisements

‘LOVE SONG’ -A POEM BY JOSEPH BRODSKY !

joseph-brodsky31

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“LOVE SONG”

If you were drowning, I’d come
to the rescue,
wrap you in my blanket and pour
hot tea.
If I were a sheriff, I’d arrest you
and keep you in the cell under
lock and key.
If you were a bird, I ‘d cut a
record
and listen all night long to your
high-pitched trill.
If I were a sergeant, you’d be my
recruit,
and boy i can assure you you’d
love the drill.
If you were Chinese, I’d learn the
languages,
burn a lot of incense, wear funny
clothes.
If you were a mirror, I’d storm
the Ladies,
give you my red lipstick and puff
your nose.
If you loved volcanoes, I’d be lava
renlentlessly erupting from my
hidden source.
And if you were my wife, I’d be
your lover
because the church is firmly
against divorce.

JOSEPH BRODSKY.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

‘AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN’ -A POEM BY ANNE SEXTON !

sexton

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Again and Again and Again”

You said the anger would come
back
just as the love did.
I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.
There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.
Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.

Anne Sexton.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .