My Country
– by Nizar Qabbani,
– translated by Norma Medawar
From the lisp of the
blackbird…
From the saddening
huskiness of the flute…
From the flickering sounds of
the folk songs
From the sighs of the
minaret…
From a cloud at sunset
woven by a chimney and by
the wound of the bricks of
the decorated and widespread
villages…
From the whispers of a star
settled in our east
From a story between
a rose and a lily
From the gasp of a
woodcutter returning with a
weary axe
The sparrow is delighted to
build his nest among us
And the willow trees spin
their homes in the brooklets
Our boundaries are protected
by jasmine and dew drops
Our flowers are blossoming
like coloured thoughts…
In my country the rocks are
in love, and the vines
are addicted
Our country was there… and
all times came after it.
