Friday, June 21, 2013


My body is the extension of my thoughts,
My roots are planted
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 
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
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

Friday, June 14, 2013


Fleeting moments,
Fluttering wings,
Rays of light resting at the edge.

I touch.

Friday, June 7, 2013

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Withdrawn, you curl up in one corner, never look
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?