(Iv-Letter-Word) (Excerpt)
I am not shy when I speak out frankly of your reality
That a yard of hogs is much cleaner than all of you
May the bench of washing the dead move,
But you are immovable
Now I expose/undress you
In all the capitals of this Arab World
You have killed my gaiety
In every alley I see al-Azlam (the idols) Amami (before me)
Till I became avoiding even the phone
Even the walls and even the children
Vomiting for this crude method
. . .
Jerusalem Is Arab Nationalism's Bride (Excerpt)
Oh my country, exhibited at the market as a morning star
They are lamenting you in the night brothels
And some revolutionaries are perfecting their manhood
Joggling at the [noise of the] drum and trumpet
Those are your enemies, my country
Who sold Palestine other than your enemies, O my country?
Who by God, sold Palestine and accumulated a wealth
Other than the list of beggars at the ruler's thresholds
And at the Great Powers' tables?
As soon as the night put on its veils
The cups crack avowing Jerusalem is your Arab Nationalism's Bride
Ahlan(welcome)…Ahlan(welcome)
Who sold Palestine other than the pen's revolutionaries?
. . .
The Disavowal (Excerpt)
My son, when your rib supported mine
you restored it and set it straight
My son, take me to the feast in your arms
Count the white hairs I reaped from your life
My son, blindness has spilled into my eyes
I came with my heart's eye
Crawling on the path you tread
My son, carrying the reed basket
reminds my shoulders of when you played on them
For a year your hands were two flowers on my head
Through you I sang to the joy of a life I'd forgotten
Seeing you brings back pure water to my body
Makes me live again when am dead
The white in your eyes is the milk of my breast
The black the night I spent crying by your cradle
I told your son who's just started playing in his cradle:
Don't fear being an orphan, grandson
He who has no father, the party will be his father
and his home
. . .
- Muzaffar Al-Nawab
