Mahmoud Darwish

If only I were a stone

I would yearn for nothing

no yesterday passing, no tomorrow to come and my present neither advancing nor retreating Nothing happening to me!

If only I were a stone - I said -Oh if only I were some stone so that water would burnish me green, yellow - I would be placed in a room like a sculpture, or exercises in sculpture or material for the eruption of the necessary from the folly of the unnecessary If only I were a stone

so that I could yearn for something!

In every object there is a being in pain - a memory of fingers, of a smell, an image. And houses are killed just like their inhabitants.

And the memory of objects is killed: stone, wood, glass, iron, cement are scattered in broken fragments like living beings. And cotton, silk, linen, papers, books are torn to pieces like proscribed words. Plates, spoons, toys, records, taps, pipes, door handles, fridges, washing machines, flower vases, jars of olives and pickles, tinned food all break just like their owners. Salt, sugar, spices, boxes of matches, pills, contraceptives, antidepressants, strings of garlic, onions, tomatoes, dried okra, rice and lentils are crushed to pieces just like their owners.