Morning walk; passing by the cemetery.


O Death,
wait till I pack my suitcase:
my toothbrush, my soap, my shaver, aftershave and clothing.
How is the weather there?
is it changing, in the white eternity,
or does it stay the same,
in winter as in autumn?
Will one book suffice there, in the no-time,
or will I need a whole library?
And how do they speak there?
In everyone's colloquial Arabic,
Or in classical Arabic?
Wait, death,
until clarity of mind returns to me
in the spring.

Mahmoud Darwish