Register me.
Iím an Arab.
‚-Card number?
fifty thousand.
-Children?
Eight? The ninth
will be born next summer.
-Are you angry?
Register me.
Iím an Arab.
-Vocation?
Stone cutter.
I must cut bread
And clothes and books
For the children.
You know, Iíll never beg at your door.
Iím an Arab.
-Are you angry?
Register me.
Iím an Arab.
Color of hair: jet black.
Eyes: brown.
Distinguishing marks:
Kuffiya and ighal on my head
And hands baked hard like rock.
Favorite food: olive oil and wild thyme.
Address: a forgotten quiet village
Where streets have no names
And men work in fields and quarries.
Iím nameless
And patient despite my anger.
I struck roots here
Long before the olive trees and poplars.
Iím a descendant of the plow pushers.
My ancestor was a peasant.
My home is a hut of muc.
Youíve stolen all my vineyards
And the land I used to till.
Youíve left nothing for my children
Except the rocks.
But Iíve heard
Youíll take away
Even the rocks.
Then register this first:
I hate nobody
And I donít steal
But if Iím made angry
Iíll eat the flesh of my oppressor.
Beware of my hunger and anger!
Mahmoud Darwish
from Splinters of Bone. B.M. Bennani (tras.),
New York: The Greenfield Review Press, 1974. pp13-14