Poem #14. Think of Others [فكر بغيرك]

By Mahmoud Darwish, translated by The Scholar.

Photo by Clay LeConey on Unsplash

[Standard Translation]

As you prepare your breakfast, think of others
[Do not forget the Pigeons food]

And as you wage your wars, think of others
[Do not forget those who seek peace]

And as you settle the water bill, think of others
[those who suckle the clouds]

And as you return to the house, your house, think of others
[Do not forget the people of the tent]

And as you sleep and count the planets, think of others
[there are those who have not found a space to bed]

And as you are freeing yourself with metaphors, think of others
[who have lost their right to speak]

And as you think of the distant others, think of yourself
[say: I wish I were a candle in the dark]

وأَنتَ تُعِدُّ فطورك ’ فكِّرْ بغيركَ
[ لا تَنْسَ قُوتَ الحمامْ ]

وأَنتَ تخوضُ حروبكَ، فكِّر بغيركَ
[لا تَنْسَ مَنْ يطلبون السلامْ]

وأَنتَ تُسدِّذُ فاتورةَ الماء، فكِّر بغيركَ
[مَنْ يرضَعُون الغمامْ]

وأَنتَ تعودُ إلى البيت، بيِتكَ، فكِّرْ بغيركَ
[ لا تنس شعب الخيامْ]

وأَنت تنام وتُحصي الكواكبَ، فكِّرْ بغيركَ
[ ثَمَّةَ مَنْ لم يجد حيّزاً للمنام]

وأَنتَ تحرِّرُ نفسك بالاستعارات، فكِّرْ بغيركَ
[ مَنْ فَقَدُوا حَقَّهم في الكلامْ]

وأَنتَ تفكِّر بالآخرين البعيدين، فكِّرْ بنفسك
[ قُلْ: ليتني شمعةٌ في الظلامْ]

[Translation With Romanization]

As you prepare your breakfast, think of others
وأَنتَ تُعِدُّ فطورك, فكِّر بغيرك
Wa anta tu'iddu fawturak, fikr bi-ghayrik
[Do not forget the food of the pigeons]
[لا تنسَ قُوتَ الحمام]
[La tansa qut al-hamam]

And as you wage your wars, think of others
وأنتَ تخوضُ حروبك, فكِّر بغيرك
Wa anta takhudu hurubak, fikr bi-ghayrik
[Do not forget those who seek peace]
[لا تنسَ مَن يطلبون السلام]
[La tansa man yatlubun al-salam]

And as you settle the water bill, think of others
وأنت تُسدِّذُ فاتورةَ الماء, فكِّر بغيرك
Wa anta tusaddidu fatūrata al-ma', fikr bi-ghayrik
[Those who suckle the clouds]
[مَن يرضَعُون الغمام]
[Man yarda'un al-ghamam]

And as you return to your house, think of others
وأنت تعود إلى البيت، بيتك, فكِّر بغيرك
Wa anta ta'ud ila al-bayt, baytak, fikr bi-ghayrik
[Do not forget the people of the tents]
[لا تنس شعب الخيام]
[La tansa sha'b al-khayam]

And as you sleep and count the stars, think of others
وأنت تنام وتحصي الكواكب, فكِّر بغيرك
Wa anta tanam wa tuhsi al-kawakib, fikr bi-ghayrik
[There are those who have not found a place to sleep]
[ثَمَّةَ مَن لم يجد حيّزاً للمنام]
[Thammata man lam yajid hayyizan lil-manam]

And as you free yourself with metaphors, think of others
وأنت تحرِّرُ نفسك بالاستعارات, فكِّر بغيرك
Wa anta tuharriru nafsak bil-istiarat, fikr bi-ghayrik
[Those who have lost their right to speak]
[مَن فَقَدُوا حَقَّهم في الكلام]
[Man faqadu haqqahum fi al-kalam]

And as you think of the distant others, think of yourself
وأنت تفكر بالآخرين البعيدين, فكِّر بنفسك
Wa anta tufakkiru bil-akharin al-ba'idin, fikr binafsik
[Say: I wish I were a candle in the dark]
[قُلْ: ليتني شمعةٌ في الظلام]
[Qul: laytani sham'atan fi al-zalam]

[Scholars Notes]

Empathy; the single word that encapsulates the essence of this poem. It is far simpler to claim, as a society, that we must become more empathetic toward one another, yet what of the actions that should accompany such claims? What, in truth, does empathy look like? Better still, how does it feel? As Darwish so poignantly demonstrates in this poem, empathy is the ability to engage in the most mundane of tasks, such as preparing breakfast, while feeling for the pigeons that flutter outside. Empathy is the capacity to look upon war and possess the wisdom to understand that not everyone desires conflict. Though not all within a given region may align with the opposing faction, it does not necessarily mean that death is the only resolution, a truth often overlooked or ignored by the media.

Empathy is the ability to fulfill basic obligations, such as settling a water bill. While paying bills may be a source of stress for some, it is important to recognize that even this stress is, in the eyes of those whose most fundamental needs remain unmet, a blessing. For some, the very act of quenching thirst requires sucking the clouds, as even groundwater falls beyond reach. Empathy is the comfort of having a roof over one’s head, not just any roof, but one’s own roof, where nostalgia, peace, and safety are nurtured, while remaining mindful of those whose only shelter is the fragile fabric of a tent.

Empathy transcends the day’s work and unfolds in the quiet moments of the night. It is in the sleep that follows, when one counts the stars, constructs to-do lists, plans for tomorrow, and reflects on the day’s events, while another is denied even this basic privilege, unable to find so much as a place to rest. Empathy is the recognition of the freedom inherent in speech, the ability to write, read, and create, while others remain silenced, denied the use of their voices.

And most crucially, while we extend empathy to others, it is equally imperative to cultivate empathy for oneself. We are given but one life upon this earth, a single opportunity to truly "live," though that journey will never, despite our best efforts, unfold in a straight line. The final line of Darwish’s poem is, in its simplicity, profoundly moving: to be the light in a world engulfed by darkness, we must first become a light within ourselves.

Of the seven verses in the poem, the one that resonates most deeply with me is the notion of freeing oneself with metaphors. Only when the oppression of the voice is truly understood can it be appreciated; otherwise, it is so often taken for granted. I once wrote about my grandmother, who, like many grandmothers of her generation, was denied an education despite her valiant efforts to pursue it. Yet, in contrast to the cinematic depictions of resilience often seen in Hollywood, she ultimately succumbed to the fate dictated for her and remains illiterate to this day. Deprived of the knowledge of reading and writing, her means of expression were stripped away.

While some possess the gift of eloquence, able to weave complex metaphors, others are still denied even the basic ability to voice their thoughts. When contemplating this, the brilliance of Darwish's line becomes all the more apparent. When a single line sparks such profound reflection, the poet undeniably deserves a standing ovation for his insight, an ovation, I gladly take part in.

Video: Poetry and recitation: Mahmoud Darwish