I belong there. I have many memories. I was born as everyone is born.
I have a mother, a house with many windows, brothers, friends, and a prison cell
with a chilly window! I have a wave snatched by seagulls, a panorama of my own.
I have a saturated meadow. In the deep horizon of my word, I have a moon,
a bird’s sustenance, and an immortal olive tree.
I have lived on the land long before swords turned man into prey.
I belong there. When heaven mourns for her mother, I return heaven to her mother.
And I cry so that a returning cloud might carry my tears.
To break the rules, I have learned all the words needed for a trial by blood.
I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them a
single word: Home.
Mahmoud Darwish, I Belong There
Home: A Short History of an Idea, a solo exhibition by Tim Buwalda.
“There’s a certain Slant of light,
…
That oppresses, …
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
We can find no scar,
But internal difference –
Where the Meanings, are –
When it comes, the Landscape listens –
Shadows – hold their breath –”
Emily Dickinson, There’s a certain Slant of light
