Two Poems by Dalia Taha, translated by Sara Elkamel

By DALIA TAHA
Translated from the Arabic by SARA ELKAMEL

a gnarled tree in front of a sunlit landscape

Ramallah Landscape, photograph by Dalia Taha

Ramallah, West Bank, Palestine

Enter Zakaria Mohammed’s Balcony

On Zakaria Mohammed’s balcony,”
we notice just how close
the settlement is.
Then we ignore it and drown 
in conversation, its lights
swelling before us
the way a car’s headlights
flood your whole existence
before its body of steel crashes into you. 

The settlement drives
toward us like a truck—crushes us
as we sit on the balcony of the poet
of rocks and flowers, surrounded
by his rocks and his flowers. 

All we own are our lips
and the pupils of our eyes—the car
will plow into all of this.
And still, life is far too complex
for words like victory or defeat.

Life is Salma on the balcony
moving plants to bigger pots, in her eyes
the settlement’s lights. 

 

Enter Fig Tree 

There is not one poet
who has not tried to describe it.

Not one person can walk past it
without extending an arm to the fruit.

Even the sun, throughout time,
has tried to penetrate its dense leaves. 

It attracts poets and vendors, pillagers and light—
but dew alone has touched its depths;

you will find its drops on the fruit
morning after morning.

In Palestine, the fruit vendors call out: “Figs!
Ripened by mist! Give no one else a taste!” 

You would never look at it and think:
How lonely is the fig tree? 

Like the writing room, it bursts with pages
and the secret of creation. 

Abundant, like a poet.

Its large leaves crowd together
like coats on a hanger— 

heavy with the world.
As beautiful as justice.

 

Note: These poems are forthcoming in Enter World by Dalia Taha; translated from the Arabic by Sara Elkamel (Graywolf Press, 2026).

 

Dalia Taha is a Palestinian poet and playwright based in Ramallah. The author of three poetry books, two plays, and a children’s poetry book, Taha was a Banipal Visiting Author Fellow and won the 2025 Norwegian Dramatists’ Association’s Solidarity Award. She holds an MFA in playwriting from Brown University and teaches at Birzeit University. 

Sara Elkamel is the author of the poetry chapbooks Field of No Justice and Garden City, and the translator of Mona Kareem’s chapbook, I Will Not Fold These Maps. She holds an MA in arts journalism from Columbia University and an MFA in poetry from New York University. She lives in Cairo. 

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Two Poems by Dalia Taha, translated by Sara Elkamel

Related Posts

Book cover for Liberal Arts by David McGlynn

Review: Liberal Arts by David McGlynn

NICOLE SCHRAG
Liberal Arts isn’t a satire. Instead, the humor originates in situational ironies that arise from the bizarre juxtapositions that might be made possible in and around universities, where people who otherwise have no earthly reason to find themselves in the same room are brought together.

Book cover of What Remains by Brais Lamela

Review: What Remains by Brais Lamela

ZARA KARSCHAY
Translated into English from the original Galician by Jacob Rogers, Lamela’s novel foregrounds the Franco regime’s work in disappearing villages, displacing its inhabitants, and forcing hundreds of political prisoners to work on its new reservoirs and dams.

Book cover of In the Good Years by Laura Creste

Gentle or Not: Victoria Kornick Interviews Laura Cresté

LAURA CRESTE
In a winter’s worth of walks along Herring Cove, I found the wreckage of a small boat, a loveseat, and, more than once, storm-battered lobster traps. And then there’s the more pernicious litter: Mylar balloons, tampon applicators, and bottle caps—so many bottle caps—at the wrack line, tangled up with the seaweed and mermaid’s purses