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TJP

Sep-02-2012 23:39

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When you are a Palestinian

A poem by Shadi Abdul-Kareem

Translation by Nahida Exiled Palestinian

(LONDON) - When you are a Palestinian

A poem by Shadi Abdul-Kareem

Translation by Nahida Exiled Palestinian

When you are a Palestinian

You would need daily practice of hiding tears

And swallowing huge chunk of wishes

Overflowing from your reality

In front of which you stand flabbergasted

Wondering who’d find the genie’s lamp

That would bring back your olive tree,

the straw tray and the sea fragrance?

When you are a Palestinian

You wouldn’t dare to broaden your smile

The ghosts of Alaqsa would encircle you

And the blood of Saladin which runs in your veins

Would remind you whenever you attempt to smile

That your smile is a betrayal… punishable by history

When you are a Palestinian

You cannot dream solo

There is always someone with you

Rather taking control

And whilst others dream of wealth, power, wife, children

Your dream is

A nap beneath an orange tree in Haifa

A cup of coffee by the shore of Tabareya

A prayer that rises up to heaven

Following the footsteps of the beloved

When you are a Palestinian

You’d live in a state of unceasing absence of normal life

No wakefulness… no sleep

No work… no rest

No awareness… no unconsciousness

Without the remembrance of Palestine;

How was Palestine!

What became of Palestine!

And what will happen to Palestine ?

When you are a Palestinian

You would live a stranger in your homeland

And a stranger outside your homeland

You would provoke all kinds of feelings

You’d be an instigator of pity, some times

An instigator of sadness, some times

An instigator of curiosity, some times

An instigator of admiration, many times

When you are a Palestinian

You’d work tirelessly

Promoting a redundant commodity

Called DIGNITY

No longer in circulation

Since new dictionaries of morality have been invented

When you are a Palestinian

You will unavoidably get an illness called melancholy

You will infect all those who know you

And those who gaze at the caged tears in your eyes

And those who’d listen to the howl of mosques, churches and stones in your voice

When you are a Palestinian

You would enjoy an extraordinary memory

You’d remember the number of sand grains under the sea

The voice of every muezzin

The laughter of every child

You’d remember the colour of dawn

The flavour of sleep

The scent of rain

You’d also remember those black nights

The voices of their monsters and their moves

You would remember the smell of death mixed with gunfire

You’d remember the wailing of widows

And the moaning of little girls

You’d remember your footsteps towards the oblivion

Every tear, and over which soil granule it fell

When you are a Palestinian

You’d discover the value of numbers

You’d fall in love with them

Or hate them

A strong bond will anchor you

Since your name became a number

Your history, a number

Your home address, a number

Your lost-family members, a number

Those who died, who imprisoned, who were torn to pieces… numbers

The days you squandered -or squandered by- in refugee camps… a number

Your dreams and failed prophecies of the day of your return… a number

You’d appreciate indeed the value of numbers

You’d be filled with gratitude to those who invented numbers

Otherwise your life would’ve been lifeless, and numberless

When you are a Palestinian

You’d live in chronic yearning to a past you never knew

And to future you would never know

When you are a Palestinian

Words of love would not matter to you

Nor the stock market

Nor festival celebrations here and there

It would not matter to you if nights became endless

Or if days disappeared forever

It would not matter to you if the year is twelve months

Or twelve watermelons

It would not matter to you if people ascended to the moon

Or if the moon descended to them

It would not matter to you if a party loses the election and another wins

It would not matter to you if a country is triumphant and another defeated

All what matters to you is that

PALESTINE WAS STOLEN

And

IT MUST BE OBTAINED BACK

When you are a Palestinian

You would abruptly stop talking

And leave the story unfinished

The poem without an ending

As most likely the ideas in your head would become overcrowded

So much so that they’d run over each other

And you’d have to stop writing or talking immediately

To attend the funeral of those thoughts which have been squashed

And died before even being born

Therefore I will cut short my speech

Leave to give my condolences in exile

Where thoughts pass away

Because they refuse to survive

Without a homeland

_________________________________

Nahida Izzat is a Jerusalem-born Palestinian refugee who has lived in exile for over forty two years, after being forced to leave her homeland at the tender age of seven in 1967, during the six-day war. She has a degree in mathematics, but art is one of her favorite pastimes. She loves hand-made things and so makes dolls, cards, and most of her own clothes. She also writes poetry, participates in written dialogues and believes in building bridges, not walls.

She started writing when her friends insisted she should write about her memories, experiences and feelings as a Palestinian.When she did it all came out sounding—she was told—like poetry! So she self-published two books: I Believe in Miracles, and Palestine the True Story.

Her dream is to return back home to a free and liberated Palestine.

If you like poetry and are intrigued by the notion of learning more about Palestine, you can visit Nahida's blog Poetry for Palestine for more of her writings; prose, poems, letters and dialogues.

You can write to Nahida : nahidaexiledpalestinian@gmail.com

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