Mahmoud Darwish " On Wishes"

"I yearn for the bread my mother bakes
I ache for my mother’s coffee.
And her touch."
Mahmoud Darwish

On Wishes
Mahmoud Darwish

Don't say to me:
          Would I were a seller of bread in Algiers
          That I might sing with a rebel
Don't say to me:
           Would I were a herdsman in the Yemen
           That I might sing to the shudderings of the time.
Don't say to me:
           Would I were a cafe waiter in Havana
           That I might sing to the victories of sorrowing women
Don't say to me:
           Would I worked as a young labourer in Aswan
           That I might sing to the rocks.

My friend,
The Nile will not flow into the Volga,
Nor the Congo or the Jordan into the Euphrates.
Each river has its source, its course, its life.
My friend, our land is not barren.
Each land has its time for being born,
Each dawn a date with a rebel.