Mahmoud Darwish

((13 March 1941 – 9 August 2008 / Palestinian)

Hope


Still there is on thy saucers remains of honey
Kick out the flies so that you can protect the honey
Still there is on their vines clusters of grapes
O, guarders of vines, drive foxes out,
Therefore, grapes will be ripe healthy.
Still there is at thy houses mat and door
Close up the way of wind away out of thy children
Perhaps they can sleep
Wind is very cold and you should close doors.
Still there is effluent blood in their hearts,
You may keep it and don't throw away
A new fetus is still unborn waiting the dawn
Still there is at thy hearth remains of firewood
Still there is coffee and a bundle of blaze

Submitted: Saturday, September 07, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 09, 2013

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Hope by Mahmoud Darwish )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Drunk poetry, Christian Lacdael
  2. Opportunities, Christian Lacdael
  3. COPLA 68 INVOCATION: This Bad Guy World, T (no first name) Wignesan
  4. Yes I Do, Lalit Kaira
  5. Wooden Footprints, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  6. New Migration Equilibriums Time Shift Es.., Terence G. Craddock
  7. bonnie to your clyde, Mandolyn ...
  8. Purpose Of Life!, Geetha Jayakumar
  9. Corridors, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  10. My Forever Crying Angel, Vlad Mutuleanu

Poem of the Day

poet Edmund Spenser

Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,
My love like the spectator ydly sits
Beholding me that all the pageants play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]