Go away.
Go away.
How many times should I see you
Dangling from the ceiling of hunger.
From the 19th century 'til now, I see you every night,
Hanging from the ceiling of hunger, and I weep.
And I weep,
As if I were your brother,
Though not born to your mother.
I look at your empty chair
And feel guilty for not sitting in it.
I look at your yellow corn
And feel guilty for not picking them.
I look at your whore
And feel guilty for not marrying her.
Go away.
I am a stranger coming from another land.
A land you have not heard of.
Aren't you satisfied with the whole nation?
Take your empty chair,
Your field of yellow corn,
Your whore.
Take even your cut ear,
For who would need it?
And go away.
I am satisfied with my empty chairs,
My field of yellow corn,
The whores of Babylon,
And my son with his throat cut since birth.
by Fadhil Obaid Assultani