Published in Poetry of Arab Women- A Contemporary Anthology by Nathalie Handal

Wat er I Do Without Water

Water is the element that is all power

For the slicing of water is unavailable

Like a slice of pie

Water, the element that is danced for

Sung for

Prayed for

Rejoiced for

Water is the holy coveted

Water is what we are made of

Water is what we are scared of

Water is what holds secrets

Water is what holds babies

Water keeps large-feared creatures at bay

Water is darkness

Water is light

Water is life

Water is death

Water is motion

Water is still…

Betryal

While the extreme form of capitalism consumes precious seconds,

minute by minute, hour by hour,

ingesting days and nights until one loses count,

loses oneself.

 The Homo erectus, us, who roam a wretched earth;

us, larger-than-life-personality dinosaurs

in search of water, oil, gas and blood-

flirt with cannibalism and laughing sinisterly at genocide.

 Cruel creatures, us humans, once opulent and mighty

in simple ways, in wholesome ways-

the lucky ones, gifted at birth with a heart, a brain,

and perfectly designed limbs.

 We learned nippily to squander nature’s generous marvels-

trading in our own hearts and souls at the neighborhood pawn shop,

for money, objects, status, power and control.

 It is not the mighty and exquisite earth that is wretched,

Indeed, it is the opposite,

for the Earth Mother is patient with evil.

It is the spineless human, the sadistic one that is vile, wretched.

I leave many out of my tirade. I love you!

Peacemakers and lovers of justice,

be assured your heart and soul is not in jeopardy.

Your work in this realm is not complete…  

Picking a Palestinian Red Poppy and Painting it is a Crime

I awake from my glee to bad news

that the wings I covet from my visiting bird

are too frail for my freedom and flight.

She pleads with me to have patience

in no justice hell prison cell until a stronger

set of wings comes along to attach

to my outstretched   a    r    m   s.

 I gawk UP and bid dove 

f a r e w e l l.

 Luminous eyes of a free bird are hope as clear

and tangible as this wet drop

that enlightened the mourning

of the f r e e white dove bird

that will return stronger to lend her

                               w i n g s

                   for my salvation and delivery.

Published in Maintenant 18 July, 2024

(nominated for the Pushcart Prize)