Читать книгу Unfortunately, It Was Paradise - Mahmoud Darwish - Страница 25

On the Slope, Higher Than the Sea, They Slept

On the slope, higher than the sea, higher than the cypresses, they slept.

The iron sky erased their memories, and the dove flew away

in the direction of their pointing fingers, east of their torn bodies.

Weren’t they entitled to throw the basil of their names on the moon in the water?

And plant bitter orange trees in the ditches to dispel the darkness?

They sleep beyond the limits of space, on a slope where words turn to stone.

They sleep on a stone carved from the bones of their phoenix.

Our heart can celebrate their feast in nearly no time.

Our heart can steal a place for doves to return to earth’s bedrock.

O kin sleeping within me, at the ends of the earth: peace be unto you! Peace.