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THE HANDSTAND |
DECEMBER 2002 |
 POEMS,
BY ZEINAB HABASH
In my country, Delicate stars Burn the mighty sun, At midday. Young birds, Tell stories of glory, To dangerous serpents. Wheatstalks, Take off their green And yellow garments, And participate in struggle. In my country, The oppressed has become The oppressor!
The Frame of Palestinian Issue Sun collapsed into the arms of dawn, When my shivering neck Had dropped, Under the hanging rope. Stars crept close to me, And wept mutely, On the cheeks of night. Dear fellow! Tear the gown off the torturing tattoo. Between eyelashes and eyes, Only false lakes are there. Fellow! Be not so sad, I'm not the first victim, And I shall never be the last. My neck became a cloud, My eyelashes a jungle, So, my dear fellow, Carry not melancholy in your heart. Fellow! Keep chanting your lovely songs, To help me bear my death. For I'm not the issue, I'm the frame of the Palestinian issue.
I read what tiny fingers dig, Into the forehead of shame. I read what tiny fingers draw, In
the eyes of daylight
In our thorny road, Dynamite bombs are planted, Wheat stalks are burnt, Only hunger, Is still the defender . My heart leaves me and lives with you, My country children, boys and girls. Who are captured in the enemy's jails Shouting and resisting, In the rooms of torture: You! Ugly wolves You'll never frighten us Of torture. You'll never frighten us Of death. A part of the brown generous soil, We are. A part of the wild flowers on our proud mountains, We are. A rich fountain of love and songs, We are. So, continue your ugly affliction. But, You can never pull off sand from our country. You can never steel fragrance from flowers. You can never prevent charming songs of breeze. You can never deport mountains. You can never arrest beauty. You can never hang fountains. And you'll never resist the sun You'll never resist the sun
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