A different joy

Sparrows are bells strung
In the unending celebration
Hidden in the wind.

And the wind recites
A thousand pages,
Of a thousand olive trees.

And the olive trees
Drink the sweat
Of my father.

And he holds me.
In his arms still…
As the arms of Palestine.


So I wrote this very briefly and didnt think to revise it. It was a result of happiness and relief I felt so briefly in this valley of our struggling reality. Its free as verse gets, and I really like it, Id like to think of it as an entire moment of confession and submission to the honesty of joy.  But you may think what kind of joy is this, this joy is hope. So, I hope you enjoy it 🙂

This is a picture of hope I took on the wall in the  West Bank.Image

Songbirds from our Mountain

Blood  whistles upon my lips
Like songbirds from our mountain
That make their seldom trips
When Western clouds surround them.

As we rush into our homes,
Crows roam a land alone,
And their song, on what war exhumes…
Until earthen clouds fall undone.

And as we weep a vulture hovers…
My eyes are closed and yours.
Teach me unlike the others…
As gossip on a summer’s doors.

I open my eyes and then I hear
The dry whisper of almond trees.
How can we stay here
Hope is little, the crows are near.