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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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