The last train has stopped at the last platform. No one is there
to save the roses, no doves to alight on a woman made of words.
Time has ended. The ode fares no better than the foam.
Don't put faith in our trains, love. Don't wait for anyone in the crowd.
The last train has stopped at the last platform. But no one
can cast the reflection of Narcissus back on the mirrors of night.
Where can I write my latest account of the body's incarnation?
It's the end of what was bound to end! Where is that which ends?
Where can I free myself of the homeland in my body?
Don't put faith in our trains love. The last dove flew away.
The last train has stopped at the last platform. And no one was there.
Mahmud Darwish, Unfortunately it was Paradise: Selected Poems, Munir Akash et al. (trad.), Frienses Corporation (Printer), s.d.