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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=470985" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Lesson In Drawing</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My son places his paint box in front of me<br>and asks me to draw a bird for him.<br>Into the color gray I dip the brush<br>and draw a square with locks and bars.<br>Astonishment fills his eyes:<br>'… But this is a prison, Father,<br>Don't you know, how to draw a bird?'<br>And I tell him: 'Son, forgive me.<br>I've forgotten the shapes of birds.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My son puts the drawing book in front of me<br>and asks me to draw a wheatstalk.<br>I hold the pen<br>and draw a gun.<br>My son mocks my ignorance,<br>demanding,<br>'Don't you know, Father, the difference between a<br>wheatstalk and a gun?'<br>I tell him, 'Son,<br>once I used to know the shapes of wheatstalks<br>the shape of the loaf<br>the shape of the rose<br>But in this hardened time<br>the trees of the forest have joined<br>the militia men<br>and the rose wears dull fatigues<br>In this time of armed wheatstalks<br>armed birds<br>armed culture<br>and armed religion<br>you can't buy a loaf<br>without finding a gun inside<br>you can't pluck a rose in the field<br>without its raising its thorns in your face<br>you can't buy a book<br>that doesn't explode between your fingers.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My son sits at the edge of my bed<br>and asks me to recite a poem,<br>A tear falls from my eyes onto the pillow.<br>My son licks it up, astonished, saying:<br>'But this is a tear, father, not a poem!'<br>And I tell him:<br>'When you grow up, my son,<br>and read the diwan of Arabic poetry<br>you'll discover that the word and the tear are twins<br>and the Arabic poem<br>is no more than a tear wept by writing fingers.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My son lays down his pens, his crayon box in<br>front of me<br>and asks me to draw a homeland for him.<br>The brush trembles in my hands<br>and I sink, weeping.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Nizar+Qabbani">Nizar Qabbani</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=470985" data-title="A Lesson In Drawing de Nizar Qabbani" data-description="My son places his paint box in front of me
and asks me to draw a bird for him.
Into the color gray I dip the brush
and draw a square with locks and bars.
Astonishment fills his eyes:
'… But this is a prison, Father,
Don't you know, how to draw a..."></div>
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