Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Identity trees


For the Arab,

Olive is the identity tree,

The tree of Mahmud Dervish

Palestinians Queue before the Israeli barracks

In the epoch of identity cards;

Life is a mere return after the inspection of identity.


Paddy field was the old mark of identity,

Vast expanse of fields spread wide

With frequent strains of melancholy streams

Kingfisher meditating on the curly roots of riverside trees.

When gold is harvested in summer

A girl loiters lazily in the fields

With a book of poems unbound

And nearby a boy stands shy.


In the Redland and the white sands

Coconut was the identity;

In the end the coconut flowers

Fruition to coconut bunches

Their buds chopped,

Toddy flows and sweet flakes invite;

On the floor polished in cow dung

Within a ring of coconut leaf

Hot sweet fluid is poured

And moulded to sweet cakes;

A number of reminiscences to chew,

Of struggles, of forbearances,

Of sorrows, Of sighs and smiles


The identity of the graveyard is a sandal tree,

Long leaves flutter in wind

On the small trees

Souls rob the roots of every tree

Its fragrance spreads in the midnight breeze


In the shade of the Memorial

Is a blood tree

Springing from the prison,

From the wounds the martyr incurred,

And then from his bleeding heart;

All village trees have the same face;

After crossing sun and lane,

Behold there,

Unknown people hide in shades.

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