Mahmoud Darwish: The Violins
The violins cry with gypsies going to the Andalus
The violins cry over Arabs leaving the Andalus
The violins cry over a lost time that doesn't return
The violins cry over a lost country that might return
The violins burn the forests of the faraway darkness
The violins bleed the vastness, and smell the blood in my veins
The violins cry with gypsies going to the Andalus
The violins cry over Arabs leaving the Andalus
The violins are horses on a string of mirage, and on moaning water
The violins are a field of savage lilacs swaying near and far
The violins are a monster that a woman's fingernail tortures
The violins are an army building a cemetery of marble and nahawand
The violins are the chaos of hearts maddened by wind in the dancer's foot
The violins are flocks of birds that flee the lacking banner
The violins are the grievance of wrinkled silk in the lovers' night
The violins are the distant sound of wine over a previous desire
The violins follow me, here and there, to take revenge on me
The violins search for me to kill me, wherever they may find me
The violins cry over Arabs leaving the Andalus
The violins cry with gypsies going to the Andalus
🔸Mahmoud Darwish
Translated by Fady Joudah
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