I could not speak,
So I dipped my soul in ink.
I could not feel,
So I hunted throughout
The land of music.
I could not see,
So I prayed
Within the deepest temples
Of Gods gardens.
Like so I listened
To my rose,
From a thousand miles away.
Tag: Home
To be a bird
Oh to be
As light as a bird
In the fields
Of gold…
Lighter than
The wind
Dancing
Secretively,
Beneath her wings…
Lost in
The memories
Of our Land.
Doorless Key
These letters are want the days
That I’ll remember few,
When we galloped fields of sage
And valleys of featherfew.
There you hummed a poets lines,
When of sage rose grape vines;
And threaded the night a gown
With lamp lights that littered town.
I couldn’t as a stranger pass
As you dressed a virgin land,
A language braided of the past
With a homeless heart and handless hand.
So your hills I braved
When you unearthed to me,
As we with night behaved,
Where you conceived a doorless key.
A Mourning Harvest
Have I found my self in a child’s breath,
Lost amongst the olives branches and figs,
Or in the language of blossoms themselves
Mourning in her basket at dawn?
“Take me back, take me back” I call to her,
“I still do not know from where I came.”
The illusion of our choice is called away
In the broken road to the market;
Cobbled musings, dreams of an old mans coffee,
Sown by the roadside seamstresses of our past.
“Who are they, do they not see you?”
Her basket sways innocently forgotten.
And in the shouts of Ramallah’s market,
The mourning of the day is cultivated.
I am left to a stranger by her hands,
An in those hands I remember being taken away.
your hand
What is wonder but my eyes in your hand?
My whispers running through your hair
Are the childish grievances I see
When your hand finds a shoulder to sleep.
no, my child
I say my child “Where is this life,
What have you brimming in your eyes?”
Quiet, quiet my little flame
Liberty does not feed fires.
16
I told her “My dream awaits
Beyond the olive groves,
It hides in the warmth
Of a figs sugary folds.”
I told her “My childhood,
Nestled in your jasmine vines,
Swings in whispering scents
That powder your neck in thyme.”
I told her “My heart lives
In Palestine’s street,
In your life visit again
So I can feel my heart beat.”
My City
I want to paint a city
with letters and words…
Lift it up
with .’s and !’s
Slip away with me
Between the words
Into an alley
Of memory
Where the soul paints
On crumbling cinder
with ideas and where
We find a silence different
From that of .’s and !’s
Atop my Home
The sky was then my roof,
Upon our years, stories.
I felt winds that carried
Humanities treaties…
The sky spilled into
The stairwell
And swept me down,
I passed a century
And near the bottom was found.
Black birds flew above
Shedding their iron feathers
Laying their cloth of ruble,
How their whispers spelled trouble.
With me was the sky
As heavy as the years,
And with me i thought i should
Then have it, even so, near.
