Tawfiq Zayyad Translation: Here We Shall Remain

Here We Shall Remain by Tawfiq Zayyad loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Like twenty impossibilities in Lydda, Ramla and Galilee ... here we shall remain. Like brick walls braced against your chests; lodged in your throats like shards of glass or prickly cactus thorns; clouding your eyes like sandstorms. Here we shall remain, like brick walls obstructing your chests, washing dishes in your boisterous bars, serving drinks to our overlords, scouring your kitchens' filthy floors in order to snatch morsels for our children from between your poisonous fangs. Here we shall remain, like brick walls deflating your chests as we face our deprivation clad in rags, singing our defiant songs, chanting our rebellious poems, then swarming out into your unjust streets to fill dungeons with our dignity. Like twenty impossibilities in Lydda, Ramla and Galilee, here we shall remain, guarding the shade of the fig and olive trees, fermenting rebellion in our children like yeast in dough. Here we wring the rocks to relieve our thirst; here we stave off starvation with dust; but here we remain and shall not depart; here we spill our expensive blood and do not hoard it. For here we have both a past and a future; here we remain, the Unconquerable; so strike fast, penetrate deep, O, my roots! Keywords/Tags: Palestine, Palestinian, Arab, Arabic, translation, resistance, race, racism, song, songs, poems, poverty, prison, rebellion, land, roots, blood, dignity Distant light by Walid Khazindar loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Bitterly cold, winter clings to the naked trees. If only you would free the bright sparrows from the tips of your fingers and release a smile—that shy, tentative smile— from the imprisoned anguish I see. Sing! Can we not sing as if we were warm, hand-in-hand, shielded by shade from a glaring sun? Can you not always remain this way, stoking the fire, more beautiful than necessary, and silent? Darkness increases; we must remain vigilant and this distant light is our only consolation— this imperiled flame, which from the beginning has been flickering, in danger of going out. Come to me, closer and closer. I don't want to be able to tell my hand from yours. And let's stay awake, lest the snow smother us. Walid Khazindar was born in 1950 in Gaza City. He is considered one of the best Palestinian poets. For a Palestinian Child, with Butterflies by Michael R. Burch Where does the butterfly go when lightning rails, when thunder howls, when hailstones scream, when winter scowls, when nights compound dark frosts with snow ... Where does the butterfly go? Where does the rose hide its bloom when night descends oblique and chill beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill? When the only relief's a banked fire's glow, where does the butterfly go? And where shall the spirit flee when life is harsh, too harsh to face, and hope is lost without a trace? Oh, when the light of life runs low, where does the butterfly go? Epitaph for a Child of Gaza by Michael R. Burch I lived as best I could, and then I died. Be careful where you step: the grave is wide. I, Too, Have a Dream by Michael R. Burch writing as “The Child Poets of Gaza” I, too, have a dream ... that one day Jews and Christians will see me as I am: a small child, lonely and afraid, staring down the barrels of their big bazookas, knowing I did nothing to deserve their enmity. My nightmare ... by Michael R. Burch writing as “The Child Poets of Gaza” I had a dream of Jesus! Mama, his eyes were so kind! But behind him I saw a billion Christians hissing "You're nothing!," so blind. who, US? by Michael R. Burch jesus was born a palestinian child where there’s no Room for the meek and the mild ... and in bethlehem still to this day, lambs are born to cries of “no Room!” and Puritanical scorn ... under Herod, Trump, Bibi their fates are the same — the slouching Beast mauls them and WE have no shame: “who’s to blame?” Frail Envelope of Flesh by Michael R. Burch for the mothers and children of Gaza Frail envelope of flesh, lying cold on the surgeon’s table with anguished eyes like your mother’s eyes and a heartbeat weak, unstable ... Frail crucible of dust, brief flower come to this— your tiny hand in your mother’s hand for a last bewildered kiss ... Brief mayfly of a child, to live two artless years! Now your mother’s lips seal up your lips from the Deluge of her tears ... Suffer the Little Children by Nakba (an alias of Michael R. Burch) I saw the carnage . . . saw girls' dreaming heads blown to red atoms, and their dreams with them . . . saw babies liquefied in burning beds as, horrified, I heard their murderers’ phlegm . . . I saw my mother stitch my shroud’s black hem, for in that moment I was one of them . . . I saw our Father’s eyes grow hard and bleak to see frail roses severed at the stem . . . How could I fail to speak? I Pray Tonight by Michael R. Burch for the children of Gaza and their mothers I pray tonight the starry Light might surround you. I pray by day that, come what may, no dark thing confound you. I pray ere tomorrow an end to your sorrow. May angels' white chorales sing, and astound you. Mother’s Smile by Michael R. Burch for the mothers of Gaza and their children There never was a fonder smile than mother’s smile, no softer touch than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile and know she loves you more than “much.” So more than “much,” much more than “all.” Though tender words, these do not speak of love at all, nor how we fall and mother’s there, nor how we reach from nightmares in the ticking night and she is there to hold us tight. There never was a stronger back than father’s back, that held our weight and lifted us, when we were small, and bore us till we reached the gate, then held our hands that first bright mile till we could run, and did, and flew. But, oh, a mother’s tender smile will leap and follow after you!