Knives

By Amal Al-Jubouri
Translated by Tim Heffernan & Haider Catan

Each river bank
is a knife.

This land
its soil, is a knife.

Faces
are knives.

The coming together
of people is a knife.

In the fabric of night
clothes tingle like a knife.

Jewels of the necklace
are knives.

In the laboratory
and under the microscope

the fact separates itself
from the knife.

Cold, gold knife
the dull laugh of a rich man.

The cold war’s cliffs
are metal knives.

Wooden knives
know about fire.

The paper knife
begs the wings of the air.

Plastic knife;
knives of the third world.

Knife of the body is desire,
lust then disgust.

Knives are words;
without the palm of the beholder

they cut the world
all by themselves.

Click here to listen to Amal Al-Jubouri reading this poem in Arabic on Lyrikline.org.