In a land preparing for its dawn,
in a while
the planets will sleep in the language of poetry.
In a while
we will bid this hard road farewell,
and ask: Where shall we begin?
In a while
we will warn the young mountain daffodils
their beauty will be eclipsed when our young women pass by.
*
I raise a glass
to those who share my vision
of a butterfly’s joyful iridescence
in this interminable tunnel of night.
*
I raise a glass
to the one who shares a glass with me
in the pitch black of this night,
a night so thick we’re both in the dark.
I raise a glass to my ghost.
*
Peace for the traveller on the other side
is to hear a traveller talking to himself.
Peace is the sound of a dove in flight
heard by two strangers standing together.
*
Peace is the longing of two enemies
to be left to themselves till they die of boredom.
Peace is two lovers
swimming in moonlight.
*
Peace is the apology of the strong
to the weak,
agreeing strength lies in vision.
Peace is the disarming of arms
before beauty —
iron turns to rust when left out in the dew.
*
Peace means a full and honest confession
of what was done to the ghost of the murdered.
Peace means returning to dig up the garden
to plan all the crops we will plant.
*
Peace is the anguish
in the music of Andalusia
weeping from the heart of a guitar.
*
Peace is an elegy said over a young man
whose heart’s been torn open
by neither bullet nor bomb,
but the beauty-spot of his beloved.
*
Peace sings of life —here, in the midst of life,
wind running free through fields ripe with wheat.
Ramallah, 2002.
