Sunday, May 28, 2017

in this East

In the back-yard, you take the children to plant flowers
digging up spaces for the little pink and red petals
trust you are fine,
in between the shots, other children dig spaces for the bodies.

Saturday, May 27, 2017

De-colonizing my kitchen

Colonize my tongue
cut the words of my language into several pieces
but leave the kitchen counters clean of your cutlery
calming chamomile, charred fish, Falfel with chick-peas
you cannot claim the way I calm down my anger;
I chop the vegetables and the world goes still around me
better cut-out vegetables than colonized cookery.

What the eight year old said

I want my mother, she cried
the eight year old who knew that the light was coming
yet all she wanted was comfort of darkness on a familiar shoulder
close your eyes little one, let us hold you
in our minds, in your innocence, in our collective shame.

trust the weight

Trust
if I put my weight forward, on a high roof
would you let me fall?

Do not drink with a sore throat

The milk left from the Santa Claus days
do not drink with a sore throat
your imagination will be contaminated by soreness

Before the banging sounds

Before the banging sounds there was song
a dance between the screens, the stars and the singing teens

before the banging sounds was music
an escalation of notes, joyous around the packed rooms

before the banging sounds was breath
from which we all became, to which we all return

before the noise was silence
a break in the middle of the sentences and a cheer

before the noise there were claps
a wave of enthusiasm and a feeling of achievement

like a world full of chances for dreams to become real

that was before the banging sound
where the city lay by sea

where the children never needed to rearrange their names

before the war was the peace
we had imagined to be, a young boy waiving a flag

before  the banging sounds
was a belief that the breath that made us, assured we are one

before it crowds my head, I will speak
I am not made silent yet.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

subject

Three bruises on the jaw,
a burning sensation behind the eyes,
I am subjected to your muscles