Saturday, August 12, 2017

Discountinued Writing

As if with chains of punishment
the words leave me 
when I try to resume writing years after abandoning the pens

Friday, August 11, 2017

A brief history of genealogy

compact like sand grains in an hourglass
the minutes you spend narrating a story of an origin

like sand grains the voices are now
closer to being characters than people who have once hugged me into life

you say, gently with the peeling of beans:

one came with the eastern wind from where others are now escaping
the land of good food, merry afternoons and Palmyra making space for other civilisations

another came from the land of wine, vowels, warm suns
Roman ruins without retaining the language only short sleep and merriment

a third descends from where the cedars converse with God
on the matters of ordinary men and women between day-light and sun-down

the forth was birthed where I am standing,
surrounded with olives trees, dust, sunshine and struggles

binding is this difference, conflicting is this fear
of letting it go to waste; that beauty, that richness, that spirit

hard to tell, I lean toward the western sun,
teach myself to rewrite my contradiction like an old useless chapter of a long book

all this, then runs in my blood
of this genealogy I inherited the fear and a traveler's will

a bird has no roots
irrespective of its wings, it has, a home.

freedom from the questions

when you do not ask for it
it arrives,

a midsummer nightmare

Not detailed like an apple spiraling down on me
in various sizes, or a car driving off a cliff into the oblivion
my nightmares are simpler these days;
I dream of dancing with you

with the same intensity after chasing three snakes away
letting one bite out my ankle
with poison in my veins
I dream of dancing with you all night.

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Literary canon

Shoot out of the base
those works you tired your eyes
reading at luxury in your bedroom
this is the literary canon you are trapped in;
half of what you are, half of what you read.

embracing freedom

Embracing freedom
with hands instead of worn-out wings
is bear-like, soft and dangerous

you evade me

with music, as if running away needs its own track
what lies you have gifted yourself the chance to trust

with silence, you greet the day
for the lack of noise can clear what remains of the eclipse in you

lunar, a temperamental evening
with art, you evade coming to terms with your smile

they call it survival's guilt
this compelling need to redesign yourself

with all this movement
will there be  stillness? I hear you ask

in the heart of the mountain

Situated in the heart of the mountain,
not quiet the valley,we wait for the glow of the first star

night repaints the evening as your face
tells a story of finding footing

we walked down from the hills 
into the valley without seeking water 

without following a light 
as if water is always our beginning 

men, women, animals searching the hills 
for our dignity to restore the shame of our forefathers 

we looked and found the heart of the mountain 
in a valley

I nod, rest my head on your shoulder
look outside of myself for answers

among friends, among faces, among the rocks
that make most of the hills we call mountains by negation

but the sound of my voice has been lost with the laughter
emitting from the glowing embers and the friends who say goodbye with a smile

goodbyes are a lot easier these days
accompanied by promises of the world getting smaller  as we grow older

between the wine and the kanoon, our bonfire
you sit, back-turned over  knowing that the minute you sought another

the one you left behind stopped respelling your name
with ash and embers on the rocks of the valley.

Reference to shame

You reference shame in the midst of summer
the same way you reference cold
with a shudder, as if cold should always be shy 
of its snow 

Restoring faith

is a long process
the restoration of faith

it means there was a loss somewhere
a tie severed, yet still healing

without glue, plasters or all the stitching needed
for a possible regaining of belief

this is the thing about faith,
the power to believe in invisible wings

shielding your shoulders in big cities in the underground
walking next to you in the small towns,

this is the return of faith
you wear an old jacket that fits just right.

the hair, like a corpse

on the ground
like a dead corpse
is the hair your fingers twirled around

Monday, August 7, 2017

relative sizing

How narrow is this bubble of yours
zone free from dissecting lines
how big in comparison, is the homeland?

The right to strike

with an old bat, a shoulder that is already broken
with a hat, a head that is too stubborn to accept cover from sunlight
with a pillow, enough dreams beating sleep into place
with a group of students, new ways to change the unchangeable
with a force, the action against a reaction that tumbles like a rolling stone
with a gentleness of a hand, colors that make the sky spin into a rainbow

on burning embers

Admire, is a strong verb
one you usually give for those who leave
even if their new start includes walking on burning embers

Repainting the roundabout

Paint drips over the end of the roundabout
fresh, like a surviving ice-cream

the flowers have been tainted too,
a little red on their summer-white petals

this doesn't save you, the face-value of paint
in the morning hours, there were thoughts

about a special occasion, made for the purpose of visitation
but the paint keeps dropping without guard

they said a king was visiting,
let's paint over this city;

repaint our tears
repaint the tank tracks
repaint the lovers night walks
repaint the tainted ugly faces
repaint the lack of air
repaint, let the red paint drip over the flowers.

Sunday, August 6, 2017

a debate

A tone higher than mine, yours 
at a discussion, no party wins
why then, the fury

Friday, August 4, 2017

the leap

Leap, you said
from a high-building onto a ground soft
like cotton

it is easy, for those who are assured to speak
eloquently like you did that day
when you spoke of faith

Alien to the norm

Like a broken record 
alien to the norm
this is how you sound, writing in a language 
you were not born into

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Learning new letters

You ask me to read the letters you learnt once
but failed to retain, presently, with effect

I spell out the words for you to no avail
there is no use making up sound in a language your heart doesn't speak

I ask you once more, for a reason the threading broke
in your voice to no avail

you answer me with reason
say, the guns poured over my notebooks
when I was just in the sixth grade
all I had was holes in my letters

Good in a city

There is nothing good that comes out of a city
when its sons and daughters 
sleep in rags, with empty stomachs 

in a suitcase

it is hard, you tell me
the different ways one has to fold
a homeland and stow it in a suitcase