by Iyad Hayatleh

Mornings       English Version

Thousands of splendid mornings and kisses
I send
to those who have no mornings

To my mum
whose face prays in my eyes
and sprays in me the lights of moons

To a grave
that hugs the laughter of my Lamees
where my heart flies sideways like a bee

To a girl
whose lesson invades her while still sleepy
with her dream lingering in her bed
dancing with its shadow

To a boy
who deceives the darkness of the camp with smiles
and draws a sun on what was destroyed
and plants jasmine amidst the ruins

To the soul of a martyr
that wipes the tears of a most beautiful mother
who became in his presence
just like a girl

To the handcuff of a prisoner
who spends his night starving

while his wrist admires the sun

To my far away motherland
I chant
and from the words of my poems
I weave a rope of love for her
and alight the bleeding of my nostalgia
as candles, for her
for you
every night.