Passport by Mahmoud Darwish

They did not recognize me in the shadows 
That suck away my color in this Passport 
And to them my wound was an exhibit 
For a tourist Who loves to collect photographs 
They did not recognize me, 
Ah... Don't leave 
The palm of my hand without the sun 
Because the trees recognize me 
Don't leave me pale like the moon! 

All the birds that followed my palm 
To the door of the distant airport 
All the wheatfields 
All the prisons 
All the white tombstones 
All the barbed Boundaries 
All the waving handkerchiefs 
All the eyes 
were with me, 
But they dropped them from my passport 

Stripped of my name and identity? 
On soil I nourished with my own hands? 
Today Job cried out 
Filling the sky: 
Don't make and example of me again! 
Oh, gentlemen, Prophets, 
Don't ask the trees for their names 
Don't ask the valleys who their mother is 
>From my forehead bursts the sward of light
And from my hand springs the water of the river 
All the hearts of the people are my identity 
So take away my passport!