On the Grass of Exile

Nada Al Khawwam

I’m sipping the cups of time drifting away
on the grass of exile
Picking up the deliberate fallout
of news
There they are talking about my old house
About my half-dead books
And the falling bitter oranges
from our neighborhood trees
They talk about
the low water of the Tigris and Euphrates
I mumble poetry on the lips of the void
Stoning the demons of my exile
Packing the memories of my long travel
And what hung onto my fingers from the grass
Keeping them all in the pockets of wishes
And then I go ...

On the Grass of Exile By Nada Al Khawwam Translated By Otba Jakob