A Plain Song about the Red Cross

A Plain Song about the Red Cross

Mahmoud Darwish Translated by: Denys Johnson-Davies/The Music of Human Flesh. Has everyone, everywhere, Arms bringing forth bread, hopes And national anthem? Why then, Father, do we eat the boughs of holom-oak And furtively recite sentimental songs? Father, we’re safe and well In the arms of the Red Cross? When the sacks of flour are empty The full moon becomes a loaf in my eyes. Why, Father, did you sell my cries of joy, my religion, In the stores of the Red Cross? Father, will the olive grove protect me when it rains? Will the trees makes up for fires, will the moon light Melt the snows, or burn up the phantoms of night? I ask a million questions And see in your eyes the silence of stone. Answer me, Father. Are you my father Or do you consider I’ve become a son of the Red Cross? Father, do flowers grow in the shade of the cross? Does a nightingale sing? Why did they blow up my small house, And why, Father mine, do you dream of the sun at sunset? And you call for me, and go on calling, While I am dreaming of sweets and raisins In the shops of the Red Cross. They denied me the swings of daytime, They kneaded my bread with mud, my eyelashes with dust. They took from me my wooden horse, They made me carry the night like a year. Oh who has exploded me at one instant Into a stream of fire? Oh, who has robbed me of the dove’s nature Under the Red Cross flag?