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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=470988" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bread, Hashish And Moon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the moon is born in the east, <br>And the white rooftops drift asleep <br>Under the heaped-up light, <br>People leave their shops and march forth in groups <br>To meet the moon <br>Carrying bread, and a radio, to the mountaintops, <br>And their narcotics. <br>There they buy and sell fantasies <br>And images, <br>And die - as the moon comes to life. <br>What does that luminous disc <br>Do to my homeland? <br>The land of the prophets, <br>The land of the simple, <br>The chewers of tobacco, the dealers in drug? <br>What does the moon do to us, <br>That we squander our valor <br>And live only to beg from Heaven? <br>What has the heaven <br>For the lazy and the weak? <br>When the moon comes to life they are changed to <br>corpses, <br>And shake the tombs of the saints, <br>Hoping to be granted some rice, some children… <br>They spread out their fine and elegant rugs, <br>And console themselves with an opium we call fate <br>And destiny. <br>In my land, the land of the simple <br>What weakness and decay <br>Lay hold of us, when the light streams forth! <br>Rugs, thousands of baskets, <br>Glasses of tea and children swarn over the hills. <br>In my land, <br>where the simple weep, <br>And live in the light they cannot perceive; <br>In my land, <br>Where people live without eyes, <br>And pray, <br>And fornicate, <br>And live in resignation, <br>As they always have, <br>Calling on the crescent moon: <br>' O Crescent Moon! <br>O suspended God of Marble! <br>O unbelievable object! <br>Always you have been for the east, for us, <br>A cluster of diamonds, <br>For the millions whose senses are numbed' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On those eastern nights when <br>The moon waxes full, <br>The east divests itself of all honor <br>And vigor. <br>The millions who go barefoot, <br>Who believe in four wives <br>And the day of judgment; <br>The millions who encounter bread <br>Only in their dreams; <br>Who spend the night in houses <br>Built of coughs; <br>Who have never set eyes on medicine; <br>Fall down like corpses beneath the light. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In my land, <br>where the stupid weep <br>And die weeping <br>Whenever the crescent moon appears <br>And their tears increase; <br>Whenever some wretched lute moves them… <br>or the song to 'night' <br>In my land, <br>In the land of the simple, <br>where we slowly chew on our unending songs- <br>A form of consumption destroying the east- <br>Our east chewing on its history, <br>its lethargic dreams, <br>Its empty legends, <br>Our east that sees the sum of all heroism <br>In Picaresque Abu Zayd al Hilali.</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=470988" data-title="Bread, Hashish And Moon de Nizar Qabbani" data-description="When the moon is born in the east, 
And the white rooftops drift asleep 
Under the heaped-up light, 
People leave their shops and march forth in groups 
To meet the moon 
Carrying bread, and a radio, to the mountaintops, 
And their narcotics. 
The..."></div>
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