Mahmoud Darwish Poems

Mahmoud Darwish was a famous poet from Palestine. Mahmoud Darwish poems made people feel emotions deep inside their hearts.

He wrote beautiful poems that talked about love, loss, and hope. His words were like magic, painting pictures in our minds.They inspired many to dream of a better world where everyone could live in peace 

He often expressed the longing for his homeland and the hope for a better future. Kids, just like you, can enjoy his poems and learn about important things through his words.

Let’s some Mahmoud Darwish poems.

Palestine Is My Homeland

I come from there and I have memories
Born as mortals are, I have a mother
And a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends,
And a prison cell with a cold window.
Mine is the wave, snatched by sea-gulls,
I have my own view,
And an extra blade of grass.
Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words,
And the bounty of birds,
And the immortal olive tree.
I walked this land before the swords
Turned its living body into a laden table.
I come from there. I render the sky unto her mother
When the sky weeps for her mother.
And I weep to make myself known
To a returning cloud.
I learnt all the words worthy of the court of blood
So that I could break the rule.
I learnt all the words and broke them up
To make a single word: 

Mahmoud Darwish Poems

I Am There

I come from there and remember,
I was born like everyone is born, I have a mother
and a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends and a prison.
I have a wave that sea-gulls snatched away.
I have a view of my own and an extra blade of grass.
I have a moon past the peak of words.
I have the godsent food of birds and an olive tree beyond the kent of time.
I have traversed the land before swords turned bodies into banquets.
I come from there, I return the sky to its mother when for its mother the sky cries, and I weep for a returning cloud to know me.
I have learned the words of blood-stained courts in order to break the rules.
I have learned and dismantled all the words to construct a single one:

 Darwish’s Love Poem

O those who pass between fleeting words
Carry your names, and be gone
Rid our time of your hours, and be gone

It is time for you to be gone
Live wherever you like, but do not live among us
It is time for you to be gone
Die wherever you like, but do not die among us.

Mahmoud Darwish Poems

My Past

If you have taken this rubble for my past
raking through it for fragments you could sell
know that I long ago moved on
deeper into the heart of the matter
If you think you can grasp me, think again:
my story flows in more than one direction
a delta springing from the riverbed
with its five fingers spread

A Man And A Fawn Play Together In A Garden

A man and a fawn play together in a garden…
I say to my friend: ‘Where did this little one
come from? ‘ He says: ‘From Heaven – perhaps he’s
the prophet John come back to me in my loneliness.
I’ve been blessed with his company. He has no mother
to nurture him so I became his mother, I give him
goat’s milk mixed with a spoonful of scented honey
and carry him like a lover’s cloud through an oak forest.’
I said to my friend: ‘Has he become familiar with
this house of yours, filled with voices and utensils? ‘
My friend said: ‘He even lies in my bed when he’s ill.
I become sickly when he does. I hallucinate:
O orphaned child, I’m your father and mother,
get up and teach me tranquility.’ I waited one month
before visiting my friend’s rural home. And his words
came with tears, strong Solomon wept for the first time,
telling me in a quivering voice:
‘This son of the father deer and the mother deer
died in my arms. He couldn’t adjust to a domestic life.
But his death isn’t like yours or mine.’ I said nothing
to my desolate friend. He didn’t bid me goodbye
with a recitation of verse, as usual. He walked to the tomb
of the white deer. He gathered sand in his hands
and cried: ‘Rise up, my son, so your father can sleep
in your bed – only there can I know tranquility.’
He is asleep in the fawn’s grave and I have
a small past in this place…
A man and a fawn lie together in a garden…

My Mother

I long for my mother’s bread
My mother’s coffee
Her touch
Childhood memories grow up in me
Day after day
I must be worth my life
At the hour of my death
Worth the tears of my mother.

And if I come back one day
Take me as a veil to your eyelashes
Cover my bones with the grass
Blessed by your footsteps
Bind us together
With a lock of your hair
With a thread that trails from the back of your dress
I might become immortal
Become a God
If I touch the depths of your heart.

If I come back
Use me as wood to feed your fire
As the clothesline on the roof of your house
Without your blessing
I am too weak to stand.

I am old
Give me back the star maps of childhood
So that I
Along with the swallows
Can chart the path
Back to your waiting nest.

The Horse Fell Off The Poem

The horse fell off the poem
and the Galilean women were wet
with butterflies and dew,
dancing above chrysanthemum

The two absent ones: you and I
you and I are the two absent ones

A pair of white doves
chatting on the branches of a holm oak

No love, but I love ancient
love poems that guard
the sick moon from smoke

I attack and retreat, like the violin in quatrains
I get far from my time when I am near
the topography of place …

There is no margin in modern language left
to celebrate what we love,
because all that will be … was

The horse fell bloodied
with my poem
and I fell bloodied
with the horse’s blood …

Rita And The Rifle

Between Rita and my eyes
There is a rifle
And whoever knows Rita
Kneels and prays
To the divinity in those honey-colored eyes.
And I kissed Rita
When she was young
And I remember how she approached
And how my arm covered the loveliest of braids.
And I remember Rita
The way a sparrow remembers its stream
Ah, Rita
Between us there are a million sparrows and images
And many a rendezvous
Fired at by a rifle.
Rita’s name was a feast in my mouth
Rita’s body was a wedding in my blood
And I was lost in Rita for two years
And for two years she slept on my arm
And we made promises
Over the most beautiful of cups
And we burned in the wine of our lips
And we were born again
Ah, Rita!
What before this rifle could have turned my eyes from yours
Except a nap or two or honey-colored clouds?
Once upon a time
Oh, the silence of dusk
In the morning my moon migrated to a far place
Towards those honey-colored eyes
And the city swept away all the singers
And Rita.
Between Rita and my eyes—
A rifle

Birds Die In Galilee

After a year
After two years
And generation…
And she threw into the camera
Twenty gardens
And the birds of Galilee
And continued searching beyond the sea
For a new meaning to truth.
-My homeland is clothes-lines
For the handkerchiefs of blood
Shed every minute.
And I stretched out on the shore
As sands and palm trees.

She does not know…
O Rita! Death and I granted you
The secret of joy wilting at the customs gate
And we were rejuvenated, Death and I,
In your first front
And in window of your house.
Death and I are two faces-
Why now do you flee from my face,
Why now do you flee?
Why now do you flee from
What makes wheat the earth’s eyelashes, from
What makes the volcano another face to jasmine?
Why now do you flee?
Nothing used to tire me at night but her silence
When it was stretching out before the door
Like the street, like the old quarter.
Let it be what you want, Rita:
The silence an axe
Or frame for stars
Or a climate for the tree’s labour pains.
I sip kisses
From the blade of knives.
Come, let’s join the massacre!

Like unwanted leaves
The flocks of birds fell
Into the wells of time.
And I pick up the blue wings.
Rita,
I am he in whose skin
The shackles etch
A likeness of the homeland.

A Lover From Palestine

Your eyes are a thorn in my heart
Inflicting pain, yet I cherish that thorn
And shield it from the wind.
I sheathe it in my flesh, I sheathe it, protecting it from night and agony,
And its wound lights the lanterns,
Its tomorrow makes my present
Dearer to me than my soul.
And soon I forget, as eye meets eye,
That once, behind the doors, there were two of us.

Your words were a song
And I tried to sing, too,
But agony encircled the lips of spring.
And like the swallow, your words took wing,
The door of our home and the autumnal threshold migrated,
To follow you wherever led by longing
Our mirrors were shattered,
And sorrow was multiplied a thousand fold.
And we gathered the splinters of sound,
Mastering only the elegy of our homeland!
Together were will plant it in the heart of a lyre,
And on the rooftops of our tragedy we’ll play it
To mutilated moons and to stones.
But I have forgotten, you of the unknown voice:
Was it your departure that rushed the lyre or was it my silence?

Yesterday I saw you in the port,
A long voyager without provisions,
Like an orphan I ran to you,
Asking the wisdom of our forefathers:
How can the ever-verdant orange grove be dragged
To prison, to exile, to a port,
And despite all her travels,
Despite the scent of salt and longing,
Remain evergreen?
I write in my diary:
I love oranges and hate the port
And I write further:
On the dock
I stood, and saw the world through Witter’s eyes
Only the orange peel is ours, and behind me lay the desert.

In the briar-covered mountains I saw you,
A shepherdess without sheep,
Pursued among the ruins.
You were my garden, and I a stranger,
Knocking at the door, my heart,
For upon my heart stand firm
The door and windows, the cement and stones.

I have seen you in casks of water, in granaries,
Broken, I have seen you a maid in night clubs,
I have seen you in the gleam of tears and in wounds.
You are the other lung in my chest;
You are the sound on my lips;
You are water; you are fire.

I saw you at the mouth of the cave, at the cavern,
Hanging your orphans’ rags on the wash line.
In the stoves, in the streets I have seen you.
In the barns and in the sun’s blood.
In the songs of the orphaned and the wretched I have seen you.
I have seen you in the salt of the sea and in the sand.
Yours was the beauty of the earth, of children and of Arabian jasmine.

And I have vowed
To fashion from my eyelashes a kerchief,
And upon it to embroider verses for your eyes,
And a name, when watered by a heart that dissolves in chanting,
Will make the sylvan arbours grow.
I shall write a phrase more precious than honey and kisses:
‘Palestinian she was and still is’.

On a night of storms, I opened the door and the window
To see the hardened moon of our nights.
I said to the night: Run out,
Beyond the darkness and the wall;
I have a promise to keep with words and light.
You are my virgin garden
As long as our songs
Are swords when we draw them.
And you are as faithful as grain
So long as our songs
Keep alive the fertile soil when we plant them.
You are like a palm tree in the mind:
Neither storm nor woodsman’s ax can fell it.
Its braids uncut
By the beasts of desert and forest
But I am the exiled one behind wall and door,
Shelter me in the warmth of your gaze.

Take me, wherever you are,
Take me, however you are.
To be restored to the warmth of face and body,
To the light of heart and eye,
To the salt of bread and song,
To the taste of earth and homeland.
Shelter me in the warmth of your gaze,
Take me, a panel of almond wood, in the cottage of sorrows,
Take me, a verse from the book of my tragedy,
Take me, a plaything or a stone from the house,
So that our next generation may recall
The path of return to our home.

Her eyes and the tattoo on her hands are Palestinian,
Her name, Palestinian,
Her dreams, and sorrow, Palestinian,
Her Kerchief, her feet and body, Palestinian,
Her words and her silence, Palestinian,
Her voice, Palestinian,
Her birth and her death, Palestinian,
I have carried you in my old notebooks
As the fire of my verses,
The sustenance for my journeys.
In your name, my voice rang in the valleys:
I have seen Byzantium’s horses
Even though the battle be different.
Beware, oh beware
The lightning struck by my song in the granite.
I am the flower of youth and the knight of knights!
I am the smasher of idols.
I plant the Levantine borders
With poems that set eagles free.
And in your name I have shouted at the enemy:
Worms, feed on my flesh if ever I slumber,
For the eggs of ants cannot hatch eagles,
And the shell of the adder’s egg
Holds but a snake!
I have seen Byzantium’s horses,
And before it all, I know
That I am the flower of youth and the knight of knights!

This is all about Mahmoud Darwish poems. Read more poems here.

FAQS

What did Mahmoud Darwish say about love?

Have I had two roads, I would have chosen their third. That is love, it opens its doors to all.

What is a famous quote by Mahmoud Darwish?

I don’t decide to represent anything except myself. But that self is full of collective memory. A person can only be born in one place.

What is Mahmoud Darwish’s most famous poem?

The most notable are “Rita and the Rifle,” “I Lost a Beautiful Dream,” “Birds of Galilee” and “I Yearn for My Mother’s Bread.” They have become anthems for at least two generations of Arabs.

Why is Mahmoud Darwish famous?

Darwish is considered by many as Palestine’s national poet.

What is a famous Arabic quote about love?

Here are some Arabic love quotes and sayings: “الحب هو أجمل شعور في العالم.” (Al-hubb huwa ahmad shu’ur fi al-‘alam.) – Means “Love is the most beautiful feeling in the world.

Summary
Mahmoud Darwish Poems
Article Name
Mahmoud Darwish Poems
Description
Mahmoud Darwish was a famous poet from Palestine. Mahmoud Darwish poems made people feel emotions deep inside their hearts.
Author