Palestinian poet Ramzi Salem’s “لم أنجُ من الحرب” originally appeared in Al Araby in January 2024. We ran a translation of his “أقدامٌ تسبق الفجر” yesterday.
Feet That Come Before the Dawn
By Ramzi Salem
Translated by the author
Where does this dawn take us?
Toward what fate does this boredom cast us?
Will it be a fitting end,
where we plant jasmine along the roadside?
Or will it be to the migration of the impossible,
where our names change with a howl?
Or will it be to the depths of the well,
where we feed on memories of love?
Our footsteps have no path—
they see the mirage as if it were before us
and strive for what is beyond it, beyond us.
Our feet go before us,
as if they were the guide to our destinies,
as if they were the hymn of our souls,
spreading our shrouds for us,
selling us our dreams,
trading them and our memories.
They go before us and run from us,
fleeing the oppression of our days,
the boldness of our imaginations,
and the clamor of our bowels,
leading us to our doom.
How can they guide us to our names
on the first night under our sky’s roof,
with the last tune trembling on the strings of our lives,
when rust consumes the frames of our bodies,
and the damp wind gnaws at the void of our bones,
when the willow leaves become scarves for our necks,
and the doves build their nests upon us,
raising their young in the cavities of our ribs,
and the jasmine blooms in the depths of our hearts
Will they guide us to ourselves and our loved ones,
whose fragrant nectar has rooted in our throats,
whose laughter echoes in our chests,
whose images are reflected on our faces?
Will they guide us to ourselves and our tragedy,
to the repeating sharp echo of our groans,
to the consolation of the shadow in our loneliness,
to our oppression and the tears in our prayers,
and our yearning for the moment of our birth,
and our last whispered words before ascent?
I will sleep—
perhaps my heart will grow and become a cloud.
My voice travels through it like a melody,
taking us, at a new dawn, to an old destination,
where we hold a funeral for the charming blue sea,
and a funeral for the migrating green willow,
and millions of other funerals for the raging blood.
I will gather the scattered conspiring particles of air,
pile them in the suitcases of memory,
and toss them into the belly of the ship.
Maybe they will come before the dawn and our confused feet,
taking us to a new fate
and a flourishing life.
Ramzi Salem is a Palestinian poet who lives in Belgium. He has published many poems addressing various topics, including Palestine, exile, homesickness, and recurring wars. He is currently working on his first collection, which primarily highlights the disastrous effects of the devastating war that erupted in the Gaza Strip on October 7, 2023. This collection deeply explores the pain of loss, suffering, hunger, and cold, and expresses his feelings as an expatriate—his constant anxiety and fear, along with longing and homesickness. It also reflects on the world’s failure and the loss of humanity.