i am on a ship run aground, amidst embers and foam, and i have cast my body into treacherous waves, am i a lab animal in my bed of icebergs? as my arms reach out toward flowerless mornings, i listen to the boss’s whistle, collecting infants whose laughter was severed on seas open to every
as if it were yesterday you are twenty-three the rain has painted the sky in seven colors after a sweet slumber while the birds of the south take flight within you, muhammad has entered your dream with a date from paradise in his hand, the taste of a morsel still lingering in your throat how
insignificant as the yellow lichen on a rock, they draped me over the world. in the soil of those who perished in the river’s flow, they tucked my pink skin into wallets while my atoms could endure no touch at all. the frosting on your cake, an icon of an infant, tasting of cream cheese,
THE DARKNESS OF MOLOCH* Read More »
Ah, autumn a season where colors paint a canvas, the most beloved of all. It is in this season that I miss you most I miss you so deeply that I write your name wherever I can, in the sands along the shore, upon the mountains and the stones, and on the leaves as they
The most beloved season Read More »
My dear friend, my brother, my Anti, You asked the other day, “What’s happening over there? How are you, what troubles do you face?” I know you are curious, that you truly value friendship. I couldn’t answer then, I was too weighed down, only now have I found the strength to compose myself. I think
A Letter to My Brother Read More »
The struggle for life is such that at times it demands that you leave your safe harbor and plunge into dark seas. You cannot know, of course, whether the seas might swallow you whole, to dare to leap without knowing for certain requires a heart, a truly great heart. And sometimes, in those dark waters,
Is there a safe harbor in life? Read More »
Should a day come when melancholy takes hold, and troubles hem you in, cast them off to the winds. If you know nothing else to do, simply whistle spring and freedom are a flutter of wings away. I know not why, but whenever I set out to write a poem, you come to mind your
A cruel rain is falling, don’t even ask bending the branches of the tamarisk trees all the way down to the ground. It’s as if everything in the sky has decided to seek asylum on the earth, suddenly, the streets empty out, and the lights in the houses flicker on, one by one. Each window
Such is the time we are living through a rose garden turned into a desolate desert. Mountains severed from mountains, lives transformed into a living hell, behind us, only pain and lingering anguish. Though we are so deeply in love with life, a single moment of peace has become a distant longing. As spring draws
Do not pick the flowers Read More »
I am weary now speak to me no more of death tell me of life of newborn babes of stars suspended in the sky of the sea shimmering with moonlight of loves that have not yet frayed tell me of spring of the youthful spring of the nobility of the heart speak of love of
