My Homeland Is Not A Suitcase, And

To Be Under Occupation, To Be Under Siege, Is Not A Good Inspiration For Poetry.

Have I Had Two Roads, I Would Have Chosen Their Third.

I Learnt All The Words Worthy Of The Court Of Blood So That I Could Break The Rule I Learnt All The Words And Broke Them Up To Make A Single Word: Homeland.

My Homeland Is Not A Suitcase, And I Am No Traveller

I See What I Want Of Love... I See Horses Making The Meadow Dance, Fifty Guitars Sighing, And A Swarm Of Bees Suckling The Wild Berries, And I Close My Eyes Until I See Our Shadow Behind This Dispossessed Place... I See What I Want Of People: Their Desire To Long For Anything, Their Lateness In Getting To Work And Their Hurry To Return To Their Folk... And Their Need To Say: Good Morning.