Hand of War

We hold war’s hand,

not so that it walks among us,

but it is death,

a bit tardy, we cajole it.

We hold war’s hand,

convinced that this is the last time

it waves catastrophe to us,

since the road is a futile wall,

and the country is searching

for a photograph

of collective sorrow.

Translated by Translated by Fady Joudah This poem appeared in The Baffler: Poems From Palestine, 2021.

10.09.2026

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