Unbelonging

My body is the extension of my thoughts,

My roots are planted

Nowhere.

The freedom of unbelonging is my luggage.

I move against the stream of time, push against the flow of crowds 

In public spaces,

Heaving uphill while being pulled 

Nothingward. 

The fire is leaping in the fireplace; glasses are refilled with

Mulled wine,

Everyone in the room is red-cheeked, words fly in the air from

Mouths to ears.

The children on the floor

Play as all children do.

Today I am here, tomorrow I am gone;

Planes, buses, trains, cabs—vehicling me with efficiency of some degree or another.

Today I am here, yet my mind is already transported

Elseward.

I want to stay here, I want with all my might; it

Is the damn legs that won’t cease pacing, the cities

That keep changing.

The luggage of unbelonging is my freedom

And

Shackles.

Touch

Fleeting moments,

Fluttering wings,
Transparent.
Rays of light resting at the edge.

I touch.

Oh, sister

Your absence has been gaping a hole in me

For some time now,

And the ocean that separates us is not the reason for the abyss

Between us.

Oh, my green-eyed sister,

Deep shadows streak your pallid face.

Withdrawn, you curl up in one corner, never look

Up

Beyond the wall of silence.

My fingers stretch out,

Yet you are not there.  You are not there.

Oh brother,

When we are old.  Very old.  Will you know me?

Shall we stroll the hills of Jerusalem together, step within the walls,

Enter the narrow alleys,

Scrumptious humus dripping from pita hunks

At Abu Shukri’s on Al Wad Road?

Our sentences get entangled, so eager we are to speak and listen all at once.

Our laughs still resonate in me.

You have grown so, you have grown so.

Oh brother,

Will I know you when I am old?