We Travel Like Other People

We travel like other people but return to nothing. Traveling was the cloud's way.
We buried our loved ones in the clouds' darkness, among the trunks of trees;
We said to our wives: Bear children from us for hundreds of years, so that we may complete this departure
Toward a single hour of homeland, one span of the impossible.
We travel in psalm wagons, rest in the tent of prophets, we emerge from gypsies' words.
We measure space by the hoopoe's beak, or sing to repel from us the distances, wash out the moon's light.
Your road is long: dream of seven women, so that you can carry this long road across your shoulders.
Shake the palm trees, to know their names, to know which mother will give birth to the child of Galilee.
We have a country full of words. Speak, speak so that I can rest my road against a rock.
We have a country full of words. Speak, speak so that we may know what is the limit of this traveling.

- Mahmoud Darwish

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