Skip to main content
Despair breeds hope
2 min read

Poems by Hala Shrouf

Hala Shrouf is a Palestinian writer based in Ramallah. She was born in Libya in 1978, and has lived between Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan. She moved to Palestine in 1995. Shrouf studied English literature and translation at Birzeit University. She won the A.M. Qattan Foundation’s Young Writer Award in 2004, and subsequently published her first collection, entitled I will Follow a Cloud for the House of Arts and Culture in Beirut. Her second collection, titled I did not Cross the River was published in 2014 by Al Dar Al Ahlia in Amman. She has participated in many poetry festivals and events in Palestine and abroad. Her poems have been translated into Swedish, Spanish, English, and French.

Credits By Hala Shrouf Translation: Wael Sawah May 24 2023

It is raining now.

I raise my palms to the sky and pray,
Lord return my mind to me,
Lord return all my love to me,
with his kohl-framed eyes,
and his heart that’s full of love for me.
But God does not listen,
there is nothing in his plan for me today.
He’s returning another lover back to their lover,
and delaying me to summertime.

It's hot now.
I raise my palms to the sky and pray,
Lord return my mind to me,
Lord return all my love to me,
with his broad shoulders,
and his voice that’s full of my name.
But God does not listen,
there is nothing in his plan for me today.
He’s returning another lover back to their lover,
and delaying me to wintertime.

It’s time for despair.
I raise my palms to the sky and pray,
Lord, take my beloved from me,
and return all of him to his mother,
and make a barrier between him and I.
But God does not listen,
there is nothing in his plan for me today.
He takes away another lover from their beloved,
and returns him to his mother,
delaying me to the deluge.

It’s now drowning-time,
I raise my palms to the sky and pray,
Lord, raise a mountain for me to climb.
Lord show me what I did not see.
But God does not listen,
there is nothing in his plan for me today.
He beholds my beloved,
falling toward me,
I raise my palms to the sky and pray,
Lord, save my beloved from the water,
and throw me some wood in the fire to dry him off.

Like what you read?

Take action for freedom of expression and donate to PEN/Opp. Our work depends upon funding and donors. Every contribution, big or small, is valuable for us.

Donate on Patreon
More ways to get involved

Search