Asma'a Azaizeh
Selected Poems

Poems continued from Banipal 45 – Writers from Palestine, p 183


Ramallah is arid and I am a fish that must transform its space into a womb.


Who am I now?

Is my foolish old voice turning into a woman?


If only I were a man!

How beautiful it would be, before I go to bed,

to piss on my emotions standing up,


There is no wind here to move my face, so I can smile.

It is the sun that burns my lips.



and Wagner’s ghost

are more merciful than Ramallah

and my ghost.


That was some raven tonight, cawing

at the window

to snatch the laughter from my little death!

And in the morning,

the explosion of dawn woke me

and a feather fell from my ear.

Translated by Khaled al-Masri for Banipal 45 – Writers from Palestine, p185

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