A drop of sky from Paradise streams
A bud from the bonfires on Hell’s branches
A bundle of black rocks in the heart
Grateful gifts for the verses that flow toward the moon
A page of the epics where heroes’ corpses lie buried&
The past that advances shouting Charge!
The odes sung by souls entering and leaving
to doors opening and doors closing
Distant graves approaching
Girls never seen twice and beds seen many times
Water in the blood, bread in the flesh, vows in the bone
A sword striking a head, a noose lain round a neck, bullets into the chest
And what comes before his eyes in the final breath
is a chain called homeland, an enemy called his people
And the beautiful life for which he longed
is the flower garden he has laid waste
© Ghojimuhemmed Muhemmed. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2016 by Joshua L. Freeman. All rights reserved.