Mahmoud Darwish
I didn't apologize to the well as I passed by it. I borrowed a cloud from an ancient pine and squeezed it like an orange. I waited for a mythical white deer. I instructed my heart in patience: Be neutral, as though you were not a part of me. Here, good shepherds stood on air and invented the flute and enticed mountain partridges into their traps. Here, I saddled a horse for flight to my personal planets, and flew. And here, a fortuneteller told me: Beware of asphalt roads and automobiles, ride on your sigh. Here, I loosened my shadow and waited. I selected the smallest stone and stood wakefully by it. I broke apart a myth and got broken myself. I circled the well until I flew out of myself to what I'm not. And a voice from deep in the well spoke to me: This grave is not yours. And so I apologized. I read verses from the wise Qur'an and said to the anonymous presence in the well: Peace be with you and the day you were killed in the land of peace and with the day you'll rise from the well's darkness and live…