Motherland

When the poet says to me

that we can speak about birds

I become restless

Because I suspect whether it is not our own epic bird

When my spouse says to me

That we can sing about limits

I am aware of a dervish who lost his tongue and land

Twirling and twirling and dancing

And saw a world without frontiers.

The stormy petrels harp that

The alleys would include the west bank

Those who lost shelters

Got dressed and wore their ornaments

Might get ready for their last journey

The children who ask where their birth land is

Would be taken to their schools

And served sweets

And called "darlings"

Then they would be shot on their chests

Without surprise or fear

They would fall dead calling their moms

In the end they would all be stamped terrorists.

Falcons and foxes would eat a tasty meat.