Why Did You Leave the Horse Alone? by Mahmoud Darwish Read Free Book Online Page B

fingers,
    Softly… softly strumming!
    A cloud, the doves bore from our sleep
    Will she come back tomorrow? No. They say: No,
    The gypsy will not come back. The gypsy does not pass through a country

    Twice. Who then will lead the steeds of this
    Place to her race? Who will shine behind them
    The silver of the places?

First Exercises on a Spanish Guitar
    Two guitars
    Exchanging a muwashah
    And cutting
    With the silk of their despair
    The marble of our absence
    From our door,
    And setting the holm oak dancing
    *
    Two guitars…
    *
    A blue eternity carries us,
    And two clouds descend
    Into the sea near you,
    Then two waves rear up
    Over the stairs, licking at your steps
    Above, and setting alight
    The salt of shores in my blood
    And fleeing
    To the clouds of purple!
    *
    Two guitars…
    *

    The water weeps, and the pebbles, and the saffron
    And the wind weeps:
    ‘Our tomorrow is no longer ours…’
    The shadow weeps behind the hysteria of a horse
    Touched by a string, and its range narrows
    Between the knives and the abyss.
    And so it chose a bow of vigour
    *
    Two guitars…
    *
    White songs for the brunette,
    Time is shattered
    So that her litter palanquin passes by two armies:
    Egyptian and Hittite
    And smoke rises
    The coloured smoke of her adornment
    Above the wreckage of the place…
    *
    Two guitars…
    *
    Nothing can take from you the Andalusia of time:
    Nor the Samarqand of time
    Except the steps of Nawahand:

    That is a gazelle which has outstripped its own funeral
    And flown upwind of the daisy
    O love! O my sick illness
    Enough, enough!
    Do not forget your grave again
    On my horse,
    Two guitars will slay us, here
    *
    Two guitars…
    Two guitars…

Seven Days of Love
    Tuesday: Phoenix
    It is enough that you pass by words
    For the phoenix to find its form in us,
    And for the spirit born of its spirit to give birth to a body…
    Spirit cannot do without a body
    To fire with itself and for itself, cannot do without a body
    To purge the soul of what it has hidden from eternity
    So let’s take fire, for nothing, but that we become one!
Wednesday: Narcissus
    Twenty-five women are her age. She was born
    As she wished… and walks around her picture
    As if she was something else in the water: Night
    I lack… to rush in myself And I lack
    A love to leap over the tower… She herself distant
    From her shadow, so that lightning passes between them
    As a stranger passes in his poem…
Thursday: Creation
    I have found my soul in my soul and outside
    And you are between them a looking glass…
    The earth visits you at times for adornment
    And to rise to what causes dreams.
    As for myself, I can be as
    You left me yesterday, near to the water, divided
    into sky and earth. Oh… where are they both?

Friday: Another Winter
    If you go away, hang my dream
    On the cupboard as a memento of yourself, or a memento
    Of me. Another winter will come, and I see
    Two doves on the chair, then I see
    What you made with the coconut: from my language
    Flowed the milk onto another mat
    If you go, then take the winter season!
Saturday: The Marriage of the Dove
    I am listening to my body: bees have gods
    And neighing has rebec without number
    I am the clouds, and you are the earth, which
    The eternal wailing of desire supports against fence
    I am listening to my body: Death has its fruits
    And Life a life it renews
    Only on a body… listening to a body
Sunday: The Place of al-Nahawand
    He loves you, come closer, as a cloud… come closer
    To the stranger at the window, he sobs for me:
    I love her. Descend like a star… descend
    Unto the traveller so that he continue to travel:
    I love you. Spread out like mist… spread out
    In the lover’s red rose, and get muddled up
    Like the tent: get muddled up in the King’s seclusion…
Monday: Muwashah
    I am passing by your name, where I am in seclusion
    As a Damascene passes Andalusia
    Here the lemon lights up for you the salt of my blood
    And here a wind fell off the horse
    I am passing by your name,