Dunya Mikhail

And the card she forgot to pay for contains neither Cupid nor his arrows, neither fire nor water nor air nor earth; it does not show her bending over the grave, and it does not tell her story on the thousand and second night.

He would cross thousands of miles

for the sake of a single cup of tea

poured by my own hand.

I fear the tea is growing cold:

cold tea is worse than death.

She pressed her ear against the shell:

she wanted to hear everything

he never told her.

Homeland, I am not your mother,

so why do you weep in my lap like this

every time

something hurts you?

The Arabic language

loves long sentences

and long wars.

It loves never-ending songs

and late nights

and weeping over ruins.

It loves working

for a long life

and a long death.

Suffering takes time:

we need a second life

to learn to live

without pain.