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With the Kitchen Knives that we carried with our luggage

We have cut the fruits

That our hosts have presented it to us in the exile

And in the old drawers of the camps that were our shelters

We have kept it

Sharpened

And shiny

To dig out our old scars once they get healed

We took instant selfies pictures

With our clothes still damp from the sea that swallowed our relatives

We started to jargonize with new languages

We shared on our Facebook accounts walls

Breathtaking photos of nature

Wallowing on its grasses

Like happy bulls

But with the same knives that we have hidden

Sharpened

And bright

In the drawers

 We went pay the stabs to each other

As we were doing in our birthplaces.

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Syria

O beautiful happy Syria

Like a hearth in December

O unhappy Syria

Like a bone between dog’s teeth

O callous Syria

Like a scalpel in the surgeon’s hands

We are your good-hearted children

We have eaten your bread, olives, and your whips

Always, we will lead you to the springs

Always, we will wipe your blood with our tender fingers

And your tears with our dry lips

We will always pave the paths for you

We will not let you get lost, Syria

As a song in a desert.

Even the wolves

When you feeling sad

Both, The River and the boat are feeling sad with you

The willow trees and the gray sparrows

The mountain and the lamp of the room

The curtains and the sunlight

The heart in the chest

And the fish in the rivers

And even the wild wolves of the wilderness

Even the wolves

Are burying their heads in the sand and cry.

Tomorrow morning

We will climb the tree and eat the berry

Tomorrow morning

I will take your hand and run in the wilderness

Tomorrow morning

I will kiss you a thousand kisses

 Moreover, to you, I will say a thousand good mornings

Nevertheless, who can assure me that the morning is coming?

The night is expanded like an ages

The woman is in the balcony

And I am in the prison.

Translated by Amani Lazar

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