Against barbarity, poetry can resist only by confirming its attachment to human fragility like a blade of grass growing on a wall while armies march by.

:وأَمَرْتُ قلبي بالتريّث:

كُنْ حياديّاً كأنَّكَ لَسْتَ مني!

To be under occupation, to be under siege, is not a good inspiration for poetry.

Have I had two roads, I would have chosen their third.

The fulness of the godhead dwelt in every blade of grass.

A person can only be born in one place. However, he may die several times elsewhere: in the exiles and prisons, and in a homeland transformed by the occupation and oppression into a nightmare.