If the Olive Trees knew the hands that planted them, Their Oil would become Tears. Mahmoud Darwish More Quotes by Mahmoud Darwish More Quotes From Mahmoud Darwish Nothing is harder on the soul, than the smell of dreams, while they're evaporating. Mahmoud Darwish smell soul dream I am from there. I am from here. I am not there and I am not here. I have two names, which meet and part, and I have two languages. I forget which of them I dream in. Mahmoud Darwish names here-i-am dream And you became like coffee, Mahmoud Darwish bitterness addiction coffee A person can only be born in one place. However, he may die several times elsewhere: in the exiles and prisons, and in a homeland transformed by the occupation and oppression into a nightmare. Mahmoud Darwish nightmare occupation may We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are. Mahmoud Darwish captives desire And I tell myself, a moon will rise from my darkness. Mahmoud Darwish moon darkness We suffer from an incurable malady: Hope. Mahmoud Darwish malady suffering If you live, live free Mahmoud Darwish live-free standing tree I thought poetry could change everything, could change history and could humanize, and I think that the illusion is very necessary to push poets to be involved and to believe, but now I think that poetry changes only the poet. Mahmoud Darwish illusion believe thinking On this earth there is that which deserves life. Mahmoud Darwish deserve earth The days have taught you not to trust happiness because it hurts when it deceives. Mahmoud Darwish taught deceiving hurt Standing here, staying here, permanent here, eternal here, and we have one goal, one, one: to be. Mahmoud Darwish eternal standing goal Every beautiful poem is an act of resistance. Mahmoud Darwish very-beautiful resistance beautiful Exile is more than a geographical concept. You can be an exile in your homeland, in your own house, in a room. Mahmoud Darwish exile house rooms I see what I want of Love... I see horses making the meadow dance, fifty guitars sighing, and a swarm of bees suckling the wild berries, and I close my eyes until I see our shadow behind this dispossessed place... I see what I want of people: their desire to long for anything, their lateness in getting to work and their hurry to return to their folk... and their need to say: Good Morning. Mahmoud Darwish horse eye morning I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them a single word: Home. Mahmoud Darwish i-have-learned home order My homeland is not a suitcase, and I am no traveller Mahmoud Darwish traveller homeland suitcases We are captives, even if our wheat grows over the fences/ and swallows rise from our broken chains./ We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are. Mahmoud Darwish wheat broken desire I don't decide to represent anything except myself. But that self is full of collective memory. Mahmoud Darwish collective-memory self memories Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless. Mahmoud Darwish dream wind night
