My Mother Comes from Jaffa Omi min Yafa

I entered the empty house,

In devastated lands,

To collect the remains of our pains and joys,

After your departure.

I looked at the dreams and memories inscribed

In our old photographs,

Dispersed in drawers thousands of miles away from your birthplace.

I sought in vain to find under the dust

And among the scraps of papers and pencils,

Traces of your will and testament.

Finding nothing,

I then decided to penetrate into the depths of your soul,

To understand again how

You’ve spent your whole life

Without property and documents,

Without even a birth certificate.

All had remained buried in Jaffa

In the home of your childhood

Or carried away by the tempests

Of a wild occupation.

So you finally left this world

Without property or fortune

Living day by day without horizons

As if you were still a child,

Enjoying the orange groves of your hometown.

You passed through this world,

Like a ghost,

Beautiful like the sea,

Light like a mermaid

Carried away by the waves

Stifling the story of a silent and bitter past

Under the rocks and stones of Jaffa.

Translated from Arabic (When my mother Layla  al ‘Issa passed away in October 2013)