"Identity Card"
"Identity Card"
by: Mahmoud Darwish
Record!
I am an Arab
And my identity card is number fifty
thousand
I have eight children
And the ninth is coming after a
summer
Will you be angry?
Record!
I am an Arab
Employed with fellow workers at a
quarry
I have eight children
I get them bread
Garments and books
from the rocks..
I do not supplicate charity at your
doors
Nor do I belittle myself at the
footsteps of your chamber
So will you be angry?
Record!
I am an Arab
I have a name without a title
Patient in a country
Where people are enraged
My roots
Were entrenched before the birth of
time
And before the opening of the eras
Before the pines, and the olive trees
And before the grass grew
My father.. descends from the family
of the plow
Not from a privileged class
And my grandfather..was a farmer
Neither well-bred, nor well-born!
Teaches me the pride of the sun
Before teaching me how to read
And my house is like a watchman's
hut
Made of branches and cane
Are you satisfied with my status?
I have a name without a title!
Record!
I am an Arab
You have stolen the orchards of my
ancestors
And the land which I cultivated
Along with my children
And you left nothing for us
Except for these rocks..
So will the State take them
As it has been said?!
Therefore!
Record on the top of the first page:
I do not hate people
Nor do I encroach
But if I become hungry
The usurper's flesh will be my food
Beware..
Beware..
Of my hunger
And my anger!
I really like this poet. He is a Palestinian who has gone through it all, and through poetry show's his passion for his people.
by: Mahmoud Darwish
Record!
I am an Arab
And my identity card is number fifty
thousand
I have eight children
And the ninth is coming after a
summer
Will you be angry?
Record!
I am an Arab
Employed with fellow workers at a
quarry
I have eight children
I get them bread
Garments and books
from the rocks..
I do not supplicate charity at your
doors
Nor do I belittle myself at the
footsteps of your chamber
So will you be angry?
Record!
I am an Arab
I have a name without a title
Patient in a country
Where people are enraged
My roots
Were entrenched before the birth of
time
And before the opening of the eras
Before the pines, and the olive trees
And before the grass grew
My father.. descends from the family
of the plow
Not from a privileged class
And my grandfather..was a farmer
Neither well-bred, nor well-born!
Teaches me the pride of the sun
Before teaching me how to read
And my house is like a watchman's
hut
Made of branches and cane
Are you satisfied with my status?
I have a name without a title!
Record!
I am an Arab
You have stolen the orchards of my
ancestors
And the land which I cultivated
Along with my children
And you left nothing for us
Except for these rocks..
So will the State take them
As it has been said?!
Therefore!
Record on the top of the first page:
I do not hate people
Nor do I encroach
But if I become hungry
The usurper's flesh will be my food
Beware..
Beware..
Of my hunger
And my anger!
I really like this poet. He is a Palestinian who has gone through it all, and through poetry show's his passion for his people.