NAHALIN*

How many moons

departed tonight? How many homes

remain without light?

The fields mourn

for their lovers

and for the vines.

The jujube explodes in the conqueror's face.

The wall is red

the street is red

the color of trees

is red

as is the color of the earth and the sun.

The ears of corn tell me

that martyrs' blood

are the songs' wine

that maidens' dreams

are dewdrops

on the eyelids of wheat.

Nahalin

what could have driven

the sorrow out of your eyes

other than the steadfastness

of the grass

under the conqueror's boot?

What could protect the pigeons' nests

from the blaze

the daisies' field,

children's eyes,

or wild thyme

or bare arms? Oh Nahalin!

The horses are racing toward you

to place a paradise at your feet.

And passionate songs blossom everywhere

and life emerges victorious.

^*A Palestinian village, site of a massacre by Israeli soldiers in April 1989.