Читать книгу Unfortunately, It Was Paradise - Mahmoud Darwish - Страница 20

We Travel Like All People

We travel like everyone else, but we return to nothing. As if travel were

a path of clouds. We buried our loved ones in the shade of clouds and between roots of trees.

We said to our wives: Give birth for hundreds of years, so that we may end this journey

within an hour of a country, within a meter of the impossible!

We travel in the chariots of the Psalms, sleep in the tents of the prophets, and are born again in the language of Gypsies.

We measure space with a hoopoe’s beak, and sing so that distance may forget us.

We cleanse the moonlight. Your road is long, so dream of seven women to bear

this long journey on your shoulders. Shake the trunks of palm trees for them.

You know the names, and which one will give birth to the Son of Galilee.

Ours is a country of words: Talk. Talk. Let me rest my road against a stone.

Ours is a country of words: Talk. Talk. Let me see an end to this journey.