Your Eyes Are An Exile

It slipped further, time, when I admitted great disappointment,
and gave myself over to hatred...
Time was slipping away... but I was faster—
I had already fled, before fleeing
I severed my own peace, fed it to the wind, hoping some other city
might catch a fever, when it notices my wounds

Published at

8 September 2026

Featured on

Spotlight: MENA

Written by

Hadeer al-Barkooni, Palestine

Poet, Writer and Political Researcher

Original in Arabic, translated by Alice S. Youssef

Your eyes are an exile; the departed do not survive

I still cannot forget how I managed to survive

Time slipped  

It slipped my fingers , swift as sand, finer  than my tranquility when memory haunts me  when tears scratch my eyelid’s edges    

Time was slipping away ...  

(though wisdom may yet visit 

the afflicted heart, when its trial grows fiercest) 

time slipped away when I grew wiser 

It slipped further, time, when I addmitted great disappointment,

 and gave myself over to hatred...

 Time was slipping away... but I was faster—

 I had already fled, before fleeing

 I severed my own peace, fed it to the wind, hoping some other city

 (upon whose hands the larks lie sleeping)

 might catch a fever, when it notices my wounds,

 grant it a special prayer no blood could corrupt. 

Mine is a wounded heart that does not bleed-

 yet an affliction of the soul is enough

 to throw open a window in the heart, 

one you used to visit, to spoil the blossom left hanging 

in the burning of tobacco, in the tender body of the air.

 You used to say that time was not enough for another  flower, 

and you would shake, in the Lord's own name, 

the trunk of my soul, and break it, 

so that from my blood the orange blossom would fall, 

ablaze, 

and leave everything around me 

turned to hell... 

And like a curse that once befell the Samaritan,

 I see you crouched along the path that leads to me, 

gnawing at the flesh of my memory, 

dragging behind you the corpse of murdered joy 

along a sidewalk that used to break into sobbing— 

into poems— 

whenever two hands parted before it… 

I see you... crossing  a forgotten street within the soul. 

I see you, and I cannot forget 

how I managed to escape your footsteps… 

I do not forget how I managed to escape

 before my soul returns to its maker, in the sky.  

back toward the sky. 

ARABIC

عيناك منفى

عينا َك منفَى؛ ليس ين ُجو ال َّراحلو َن

َم َكنَنِي أ َن ان ُجو

ن َسى كيف أ

ولس ُت أ .. َ

الوق ُت كان يَ ِف ر

ِ

ِن األصابع

ِمن بي

مسِر ًعا، كال َّرم ِل، أ ْنعَ َم

ِمن هدوئي عندما تغتالني الِذكَرى

ويَخد ُش طر َف َج .. ْفنِي ال َّدم ُع

كان يَ ِف ر..

) القل َب المعنَّى عندما تشت د ِمحنتُهُ

ْد تَ ُزو ُر الحكمةُ

لك ْن ق ( َ

وكان يً ِف ر

ل َّما ِصر ُت أذ َكى واعترف ُت

بخيب ِة األم ِل الكبير ِة

واقترف ُت الكُ .. ْرهَ

الوق ُت كان يَف ر..

لكْني كن ُت أسر َع

َر ْر ُت

ْد فَ

قَ

ِر قَ َط ْعتُ َها

ب َل ال ِفرا

ورا َحتِي قَ

ِ ريحِ

ألقَمتُها لل

أخ َرى

َع َّل مدينةً

)تنام علَى يديها القبَّرا ُت(

تُصا ُب بال ُح َّمى إذا ما ال َح َظ ْت ُجر ِحي

وتمن ُحهُ صالةً ليس تُف ِسدها الِ دما..

ِي مصا ٌب، ليس يَنِز ُف

قلب

تَكِفي كي تُفَتِ َح

في ال روحِ

ِعلَّةٌ

ِش كن َت تَ ُز في القلب

ً

رفة و ُرها

َق

كي تُف ِسَد ال َّزه َر المعلَّ

ِ ض

في َج َسِد الهوا ِء الغَ

ِ

ِق التَّبغ

باحترا

كن َت تقو ُل إ َّن الوق َت

َح زهرةً أخ َرى

ال يَكِفي ِليَمنَ

ِاسِم ال َّر ِب

وكن َت ت ُه ز ب

، تَك ِس ُره،ُ

جذ َع ال روحِ

ِهبًا،

ِليَسقُ َط ِمن دمي النَّارن ُج ملتَ

ويَتر َك ك َّل ما حوِلي يَ ِصي ُر َجهنَّما...

وكلعن ٍّة َم َّس ْت كيا َن ال َّسامِر يِ أرا َك

َّي

ِق إل

تَقبَ ُع في ال .. َّطري

تَن َه ُش لح َم ذاكرتي

ِل

القتي

الفَرحِ

وتَس َح ُب جثَّةَ

علَى رصي ٍّف كان يَج َه ُش بالبُكا ِء وبالقصائِد

ِن أما َمهُ

ْت يَدا

كلَّما افترق .. َ

وأرا َك..

ا أرا َك

تَق َط ُع شار ًعا في ال روحِ منسي

َم َكنَنِي أ َن أن ُج َو ِمن ُخطا َك

ن َسى كيف أ

ولس ُت أ .. َ

ْب َل أ ْن ترتَ َّد ُرو ِحي ِلل َّسما

ولس ُت أن َسى كيف أ . َم َكنَنِي أ َن أن ُج َو

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