Write Down: I Am An Arab, A Name Without A Title, Patient In A Country Where Everything Lives On Flared-up

Write down: I am an Arab, A name without a title, Patient in a country where everything Lives on flared-up anger. My roots… Took firm hold before the birth of time, Before the beginning of the ages, Before the cypress and olives, Before the growth of pastures. My father… of the people of the plough, Not of noble masters. My grandfather, a peasant Of no prominent lineage, Taught me pride of self before reading of books. My house is a watchman’s hut Of sticks and reed. Does my status satisfy you? I am a name without a title.

Write down: I am an Arab Robbed of my ancestors’ vineyards And of the land cultivated By me and all my children. Nothing is left for us and my grandchildren Except these rocks… Will your government take them too, as reported? Therefore, Write at the top of page one: I do not hate people, I do not assault anyone, But … if I get hungry, I eat the flesh of my usurper. Beware … beware … of my hunger, And of my anger.

-Mahmoud Darwish

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يقولونَ إني كالبدرِ بَهجةً وأنَّ الجمالَ بوجهيَ ارتَسما

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