Palestine’s Poppies

Yousef Alawi


Remembrance Day wears its name to the ground.

Blooming orchard of dismember, spring punctuates blood,       

دماء‭ ‬شهداء‭ ‬أرضنا‭ ‬تصبغ

‭  ‬ ‭ ‬الأرض‭, ‬وهي‭ ‬تشاهد‭  ‬ ‭  ‬

كيف‭ ‬التراب‭ ‬يمسح‭ ‬على‭ ‬رؤوسهم

        how it trudges over their temples.

Adorns us into silence. Everyone—must stop.

أتذكر(ك)           

The willow, which is named after its tendency to grieve, has faith

In your return to. The riverbed

Believes in your last name. Strewn over it

Are a grandfather’s last monochrome fish-net,

     كل عقدة كرأس

each knot prostrating

     مع كل تموج

Of these un-still waters                                     

‭     ‬النهر ‭ ‬

swiftly rippling into our thoughts, only steeping

Briefly. We dissolve (!)—into un-conscious ash, devoid

Of meaning and un-kinetic. Weeping hymnal 

Of olive willow, its bark fibrous and aerated and whispering 

To the dead sea. Silence up-bubbling to the surface, brine- 

Lacerated and     مُر,   salt bound,       مركز. 

There isn’t much to say for the skin bejewelled to the shoreline,

Despite لونه, despite شرر‭ ‬الشظايا. Maybe—

I am listening—again or for once—انا‭ ‬مركز‭ ‬

I want to kiss my un-born children. They are soot

Already. My feet are burned through—my mother-

Land is suffocating. It is the body of my country

That is carried and laid into prayer, breathless. Profuse

With red saline-crystals. I wake to it caught

On fire

continuously—تحترق تحترق تحترق تحترق تحترق

There—a second coming of flight, a flock

Of birds or drones like severed heads,

   يدسون بلاط سماءَنا

A curved vertebrae of noise pollution 

-هوائنا يتلوث—يوم بعد يوم بعد 

In this way

The country is quiet—

Has been for years.

Translation & Transliteration

Dima’ shuhada’ ardhina tasbugh

al-ard, wa hiya tushahid

Kayf at-turab yamsah ‘ala ru’usihim

Ata-dhak-kar(ak)

Kull ‘uqd-atin ka-ra’s

Ma’a kulli tamawwuj

An-nahr

Murr

Murakaz

Lown-oh

Sharar ash-shadhaya

Ana murakiz

Tahtariq, tahtariq, tahtariq, tahtariq, tahtariq

Yadussun balat sama’ana

Hawa’ana yatllawath—yawm ba’d yawm ba’d


The blood of our land’s martyrs dyes

The earth, as it watches

How mud wipes over their heads.

(I) remember (you)

Each knot like a head

With every undulation

The river

Bitter

Concentrated

Its colour

The spark of shrapnel

I am focused

It burns, burns, burns, burns, burns

trampling the tiles of our sky

Our air is polluted—day after day after-


دماء‭ ‬شهداء‭ ‬أرضنا‭ ‬تصبغ

الأرض‭, ‬وهي‭ ‬تشاهد

كيف‭ ‬التراب‭ ‬يمسح‭ ‬على‭ ‬رؤوسهم

أتذكر‭(‬ك

كل‭ ‬عقدة‭ ‬كرأس

مع‭ ‬كل‭ ‬تموج

النهر

مُر

مركز

لونه

شرر‭ ‬الشظايا

انا‭ ‬مركز

تحترق‭ ‬تحترق‭ ‬تحترق‭ ‬تحترق‭ ‬تحترق

يدسون بلاط سماءَنا

هوائنا‭ ‬يتلوث—يوم‭ ‬بعد‭ ‬يوم‭ ‬بعد‭-‬

Yousef Alawi is a Yemeni writer, raised between Malaysia and Yemen and now resides in the UK. A Top 15 Foyle Young Poet of 2024, he has performed his writing at venues like The British Library, on BBC radio and headlined for the VERVE Poetry Festival.