Translated from Arabic by Wiam El-Tamami
Rain, why have you come
tonight? No buckets here
to be filled with the
exhaustion of war. No prayers
in palms that ball up
the evening’s bread.
Nothing for you
to do here. Pour
your wailing there,
at the hospital gates,
pour it over the bloodied shirts
of the doctors and gravediggers.
No trees left here, awaiting you
to share songs and births.
Return to the sky.
To our children, swimming in the void.
To their smiles in our photographs:
to their dreams, forgotten
beneath their mothers’ pillows.
They’re no longer here,
though their shoes still meow
under the rubble.
Return.
To a country that produces
poetry and oranges. To girls
swaying like geese on their way
to school—on their way over
here. To women stitching roses
on clothes, to balconies and songs,
to men chewing chili peppers
and smoking, laughter blooming
on their shoulders.
Return to the clouds
with your missive of love.
The streets are ashen, and
the houses no longer care.
Nothing is left awaiting
you here, nobody.
Nasser Rabah is a Palestinian poet and novelist. He was born in Gaza in 1963 and continues to live there. He has published seven poetry collections and two novels. Gaza: The Poem Said Its Piece (City Lights, 2025) is his first poetry collection in English translation. His work has also been featured in publications such as The New Yorker, Harper’s, Poetry, and The Paris Review, and has been translated into several languages.