ADNAN, Etel

Maps, oh maps!

I have a passion for map:

they are the keepers of hope, of

projects, of dreams. They make

sure that cities, rivers, mountains,

do exist. And if they exist, then

somebody will be able to take them,

and one of these “somebodies” may

one day be “me”. And also,

sometimes, in my sleep, I find

myself walking on a map-like

space, searching for a place I

can at last call my own. But

it always sends me to another

one, similar to it, but further

away. Lonely people have

always a map in their head.



You came

You came

with a handful of pain

and a smile

which broke the ground under my feet

as the earthquake does
when two people

meet.


XXXIX from The Arab Apocalypse

When the living rot on the bodies of the dead

When the combatants’ teeth become knives

When words lose their meaning and become arsenic

When the aggressors’ nails become claws

When old friends hurry to join the carnage

When the victors’ eyes become live shells

When clergymen pick up the hammer and crucify

When officials open the door to the enemy

When the mountain peoples’ feet weigh like elephants

When roses grow only in cemeteries

When they eat the Palestinian’s liver before he’s even dead

When the sun itself has no other purpose than being a shroud

the human tide moves on . . .