Victim Number 18

Victim Number 18

Mahmoud Darwish Translated by: Denys Johnson-Davies/The Music of Human Flesh. Once olive grove was green. It was, and the sky A grove of blue. It was my love. What changed that evening? At the bend in the track they stopped the lorry of workers. So calm they were. They turned us round towards the east. So calm they were. Once my heart was a blue bird, O nest of my beloved. The handkerchiefs I had of yours were all white. They were, my love. What stained them that evening? I do not understand at all, my love. At the bend in the track they stopped the lorry of workers. So calm they were. They turned us round towards the east. So calm they were. From me you’ll have evening, Yours the shade and yours the light, A wedding-ring and all you want, And an orchard of trees, of olive and fig. And as on every night I’ll come to you. In the dream I’ll enter by the window and throw you jasmine. Blame me not if I’m a little late: They stopped me. The olive grove was always green. It was, my love.        Fifty victims Turned it at sunset into A crimson pond, Fifty victims. Beloved, do not blame me.        They killed me. They killed me.                They killed me.