ARABLIT A magazine of Arabic literature in translation
Palestine, Poetry Shaimaa Abulebda
New Poetry: ‘The Tent Is Closing in on Us’
My body recognizes the feel of the air inside tents. It’s well-acquainted with the windy nights and the scorching days and everything in between.
The humidity, relentless in both summer and winter, wraps itself around me like a suffocating shroud. It swells my limbs, making my hands and feet feel heavy and stiff, barely capable of movement. In summer, my face and hands easily get sunburnt; they feel like they are literally on fire, such that I cannot bear the gentle touches of my nieces and nephews. In winter, the biting wind lashes at my hunched back leaving me with searing pain and numb fingers.
Within the confines of tents, I have longed for walls to straighten my back, to shield me from the relentless sun, the biting wind, and the unrelenting rain. -Shaimaa Abulebda
The Tent Is Closing in on Us
By Shaimaa Abulebda
After Mahmoud Darwish
The tent is closing in on us.
Our limbs are squeezed tightly together
in search of warmth in cramped space.
We wish for the unmerciful stones—
knowing they could crumble to rubble
and tear us limb by limb—
to surround us, to straighten our hunched backs.
The nights stretch long and bitter;
the cold wind coming from the sea
gnaws at our bones and lashes at our backs.
We wish for the treacherous ceilings—
knowing they could collapse upon us
and crush our frail skeletons—
to shield us from the dreadful rain.
The mornings are too short
spent on the weight of endless chores—
scrubbing hands raw, standing in the ceaseless queues—
distracted from the unsaid fears that haunt our nights.
Where do we go when the land and sky trap us?
Where to shelter away from houses and tents?
On what road do we stop to unload this misery?
Also by Shaimaa:
‘Resistance and the Palestinian Folk Song’
‘She Stretched Out Her Hand’: A Translator’s Tribute to Mourid Barghouti
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