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Night in the English Village

Saadi Youssef | Poetry, Translations

translated by Khaled Mattawa

We, people from villages, know the night:
The date palms seal our mirrors.
No palm fronds swaying in the distance.
Or flopping swordfish that wandered to our stream.
We scamper to our mothers,
close our eyelids in the bliss of warmth.
A lullaby takes us
toward what appears like Hijaz
and Najd.
Only then,
we are who we are.

Has the night companion gone quiet?
This English village
doesn’t have a night companion.
No one moves.
Rather, nothing around here moves.
A car?
Probably.

After the day’s retreat
the rains come.
And now the unfailingly surprising question:
Where to escape?