On the Grass of Exile

By Nada Al Khawwam
Translated By Otba Jakob

Translated from the Arabic

I’m sipping the cups of time drifting away 
on the grass of exile
Picking up the deliberate fallout
of news
There they are talking about my old house 
About my half-dead books
And the falling bitter oranges
from our neighborhood trees
They talk about
the low water of the Tigris and Euphrates
I mumble poetry on the lips of the void 
Stoning the demons of my exile
Packing the memories of my long travel
And what hung onto my fingers from the grass 
Keeping them all in the pockets of wishes
And then I go ...

Notes:

This poem was originally published in Poems Along the River (DAAD, 2020). Copyright © Otba Jakob. It is part of the folio “Broken Lines: A Gathering of Exiled Poets,” curated by Laura Kraftowitz and Edward Salem. Read the rest of the folio in the July/August 2026 issue of Poetry.  

Source: Poetry (July/August 2026)