Battles

I don't know what my father made the vessels
that carry blood in our house from?
Our clay vessels no longer quench the thirst of the most desperate,
and the mist of their salts intoxicates me.
Thus, the divine force compels me
to spend periods of madness from time to time
where my screams pierce the covers of the windows.
The windows...
Well, you know how they were shattered
not by the grip of a child's ball, but from a head's grasp.
For we possess heads that fear not shattered thoughts,
and wrists that do not avoid their sharp edges.

I don't know in what skin did my father hide us?
So that all the heavens appear as a canopy
that does not rain upon us,
nor wet us with its heavy rains or foolish spittle.
I dreamt that one day it rained on us,
for we are allowed to dream beyond the roof of our house,
as long as we don't seek refuge with the crows
in the east or west of the earth,
escaping... from the shaky ground of the homeland.
They used to tell us
what severe losses may come from a limping step?
And we limped...
and we drank from the clay vessels,
and got intoxicated,
and we grew tired of the constant dilemma
between two options,
to be or not to be,
laziness or madness,
we grew tired
that we were born with such genes.

I don't know what fear bound our hands, my father's hands?!
Every time we shook hands with a friend,
we extended our hands seeking mercy!
From which we were captured without senses,
nations dragging us from one day to another,
careless of the roar of our hunger,
even when we suckled venom from the snake's tongue,
the nations offered us
nothing but tainted water to irrigate our bellies
and wash the corpses
that time had combed with the teeth of its saw,
its favorite men,
thus, we are a people who find all arenas as battlefields,
a people who fight as if they have never won any battle.