Samih al-Qasim (1939–2014) was a Palestinian Druze poet, writer, and political activist whose work became a defining voice of modern Arabic “resistance poetry.” Writing from within Israel, he articulated themes of national identity, exile, and steadfastness that resonated across the Arab world.
Often mentioned alongside fellow “resistance poet” Mahmoud Darwish, al-Qasim remains a cornerstone of Palestinian and Arab literature. His lyrical defiance and humanistic tone bridged divides of faith and politics. Since 2017, the Samih al-Qasim Foundation in Rama has preserved his archive and legacy through cultural and educational initiatives.
CONFESSIONS OF THE MIDDAY SUN
Samih al-Qasim
I planted the tree
I scorned the fruit
I took its trunk as firewood
I made the Oud
I played a tune
I broke the Oud
I lost the fruit
I lost the tune
I…mourned the tree
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CUT LIP
Samih al-Qasim
It was a wish of mine to tell you
A story of a dead nightingale
It was a wish of mine to tell you
…The story
!Were it not for this lip they cut
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ENEMY OF THE SUN
Samih al-Qasim
I may – if you wish – lose my livelihood
I may sell my shirt and bed.
I may work as a stone cutter,
A street sweeper, a porter.
I may clean your stores
Or rummage your garbage for food.
I may lie down hungry,
O enemy of the sun,
But
I shall not compromise
And to the last pulse in my veins
I shall resist.
You may take the last strip of my land,
Feed my youth to prison cells.
You may plunder my heritage.
You may burn my books, my poems
Or feed my flesh to the dogs.
You may spread a web of terror
On the roofs of my village,
O enemy of the sun,
But
I shall not compromise
And to the last pulse in my veins
I shall resist.
You may put out the light in my eyes.
You may deprive me of my mother’s kisses.
You may curse my father, my people.
You may distort my history,
You may deprive my children of a smile
And of life’s necessities.
You may fool my friends with a borrowed face.
You may build walls of hatred around me.
You may glue my eyes to humiliations,
O enemy of the sun,
But
I shall not compromise
And to the last pulse in my veins
I shall resist.
O enemy of the sun
The decorations are raised at the port.
The ejaculations fill the air,
A glow in the hearts,
And in the horizon
A sail is seen
Challenging the wind
And the depths.
It is Ulysses
Returning home
From the sea of loss
It is the return of the sun,
Of my exiled ones
And for her sake, and his
I swear
I shall not compromise
And to the last pulse in my veins
I shall resist,
Resist—and resist.
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SHALOM
Let someone else sing about peace,
Sing of friendship, brotherhood and harmony.
Let someone else sing about crows
Someone who will shriek about the ruins in my verses
To the dark owl haunting the debris of the pigeon towers.
Let someone else sing about peace
While the grain in the field brays,
Longing for the echo of the reapers’ songs.
Let someone else sing for peace.
While over there, behind the barbed fences
In the heart of darkness,
Tent cities cower.
Their inhabitants,
Settlements of sadness and anger
And the tuberculosis of memory.
While over there, life is snuffed out,
In our people,
In innocents, who never did any harm to life!
And meanwhile, here,
So many have poured in … so much abundance!
Their forefathers planted so much abundance for them,
And also, alas, for others.
This inheritance—the sorrows of years—belongs to them now!
So let the hungry eat their fill.
And let the orphans eat leftovers from the banquet of malice.
Let someone else sing peace.
For in my country, on its hills and in its valleys
Peace has been murdered.
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TRAVEL TICKETS
Samih al-Qasim
The day I’m killed,
my killer, rifling through my pockets,
will find travel tickets:
one to peace,
one to the fields and the rain,
and one to the conscience of humankind.
Dear killer of mine, I beg you:
do not stay and waste them.
Take them, use them.
I beg you to travel.