Kazim Ali

Issue #
September 6, 2013


“From our roof you can see Tel Aviv, and then the sea.”

The evening in the distance speaks the tongue of fire

Empty canisters glitter in the field

The shines always in the next country but in our country
Darkness has no ration limit

We translate the Hill of Spring in our language of snow

Night lies down here on our roof in August

Listen to the sound of the fountains on the other side of the wall

A long time before we had any argument about historiography
each woman here grew wild thyme in the bullet-laden garden

Each man measured in his mind the distance between his jail cell
and the eastern shore of the sea

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