^{translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah}

Like the rest of you,

I thought of escape.

But I have a fear of flying,

a phobia of congested bridges

and traffic accidents,

of learning a new language.

My plan’s for a simple getaway,

a small departure:

pack my children in a suitcase

and to a new place we go.

Directions confuse me:

there’s no forest in this city,

no desert either.

Do you know a road for loss

that doesn’t end

in a settlement?

I thought of befriending animals,

the adorable type, as substitutes

for my children’s electronic toys,

but I want a place for getting lost.

My children will grow,

their questions will multiply,

and I don’t tell lies,

but teachers distort my words.

I don’t hold grudges,

but neighbors are always nosy.

I don’t rebuke,

but enemies kill.

My children grow older,

and no one’s thought yet

to broadcast the final news hour,

shut down religious channels,

seal school roofs and walls,

end torture.

I don’t dare to speak.

Whatever I speak of happens.

I don’t want to speak.

I’d rather be lost.