An Egg in a Frying Pan
Nasser Rabah
Suddenly… the electricity’s off.
And life sips at a cup of silence,
finishes its shift
and sits, rests…
Houses don the clothes left
on their dark lines.
Windows, mailboxes, and clocks,
all stop waiting.
Scholars refrain from chatting
martyrs postpone death,
But time spreads, like an egg
in a frying pan.
The electricity’s gone off,
and we smell a scent of life.
Like a woman just leaving her bed.
Translated by Mosab Abu Toha
Letter to the pilot returning to the base after bombing Gaza.
Nasser Rabah
You might be taking off your heavy military helmet, smiling to those who greet you. And they might be congratulating you on a safe return from a very risky mission, but you are the only one who knows well what you have done. Shame on you. Shame on you. Spread dust over your head. Spit at your face in the mirror. Is this what you’ve been taught? To fight the houses and the streets have no missiles against your fighter jet that flees through planeless sky. And when you watch our children under rubble on your TV screen? They waive their hands in victory,
even when dead.
Translated by Mosab Abu Toha