Composing poetry and verse

Composing poetry and verse

Mahmoud Darwish In the coffins of my beloved ones, I sing For my little ones’ swings: My father’s blood is mine, so wait. Day is the end of the night. My father’s friend, his scythe, lies there, For me to water with stars’ rays. To ready it for the harvest to reap Every evil in a heap. My job, Sir? Composing poetry and verse. My pay? None but your grace. You don’t read? Pardon me sir, for newspapers Songs, and anthems are your echo proper. So that the sun shine longer, Sink deep in the earth, my friend, and tender, Like trees, deep roots, and then give to the clouds A trunk, a branch, and fruit. Zajel / An-Najah National University