Paper Poetry

The Unraveling

2011-09-06T15:25:00.002+03:00

Like everything else,

Palpitations have shelf lives

Beats time lapse through open doors

That stutter in relentless exuberance

Expiration dates mark every whisk of an embroidered tongue

This here?

This is time unfurling to the refrain of an angel’s wing span

that has wrapped itself around the earth

Two folds.

To return, here, back again.

In a dizzying display of fanatical artistry

We bend our necks to pose questions beyond a withered stratosphere

Our mechanical murmurs weaving through the minefields

of downtown asphalt slathered with graffiti politique

Here, we beg our questions

What riddles animate the nights?

The hieroglyphics that litter the erratic darkness of space

Commanding our attention

Pounding hearts settle in dry throats

Our fingertips tracing constellations from the chaotic fields of stars

And we find meaning in banality

Revelations in the routine

Disclosures

But is it enough?

No matter how celestial

Morse code whispers make for poor conversation

And timid echoes mimic only the unequivocal response of:

Silence

Is to be expected.

And these paradoxes will keep us up all night

With our eyes affixed to the sprawled blank canvas of awakened souls

Scuffling across rooftops in pursuit of the cold air

That fills our lungs with the unraveling.

Until unstoppable forces meet immovable objects

And move them

Leave them bloodied, ragged and torn

Leave them vivid, violent and fervent

Leave them tempered, addled and lost

Leave them still

Leave them be

Until somewhere

The flutter in a heart exhales

At the very moment it meets a racing mind

Both nodding with apprehension

An understanding

That only the questions that were ever worth asking

Will have been answered

When day breaks.

Sunup

2011-08-21T05:51:00.001+03:00

I am hovering

Cavernous

Over cityscapes

Extended across an imagination of one

This is the twilight hour; dissipating

Crickets sound their alarms

As dawn breaks

Like dreams break

Like porcelain breaks

Like hearts break

Like hearts ache

The highway shimmers to life

Yawning its fault lines

Of asphalt confessions

Air rushes in with a cold shoulder

Sheets unravel from wrapped bodies

The static is ruptured

And everywhere

Everyone

Is alive.

Prologue

2010-06-27T03:09:00.003+03:00

The residue of black coffee
Drained on a saucer
Tells a story
Of stained red pomegranate hands
Twisting beneath the drenched stream of thoughts
Drawing blood from a stone
Bleeding daylight through aluminum windows
Where our names lay carved in the wooden frame below
Crafting philosophies out of metaphors
And listening to the olive groves breathing in the midnight
Sheep grazing under watchful Bedouin eyes
Dust dancing the tango on a hillside
Just a stone’s throw from the reeling
That lines the sidewalks of unborn cityscapes
And relentless architecture
Rogue, sweet, radical, vivid, violent, fragile, serene
Panicked and bitter like green tea
We bury the wilderness of our youth
Deep beneath the vertical landscapes of thorny bushes
Like they were the world’s best-kept secret

And when we need to, we whisper them in hushes
And grow new tales ripe for the telling
Co-authoring the unfolding blank pages
With ink drenched in the red stains of fruits; permanently
Like us.
We draw our lines in the sands of present tense and say: this is just the prologue
Scribbled in the language of memory
Where the after makes no introductions;
And before is fraught with rude departures
The stage can only bear one scene at a time
One verse, one stanza, one rhyme at a time
But we are relentless
We write furiously
As if these pages could not contain us
These lines could not restrain us
This language could not bear us nor its words
Accurately portray us
We write till the ink runs dry

And still, the residue of black coffee drained on a saucer
Tells a story just waiting to be told

But really,
It's in the telling
That we make our mark on this world

Amman Illuminated [Morning Haiku]

2010-06-17T06:20:00.003+03:00

Sky bends
.
Like bamboo
.
Morning breaks
.
But my mind’s been alit
.
All
.
Night
.
Long
.

Morning Composures

2010-03-29T03:44:00.002+03:00

Come tilt the dawn this way. It’s morning.
Let it come trembling and fumbling like the hands of a beggar
Who composes symphonies on paper napkins
That sound just. like. this:
First, add the trumpets of celestial ramblings
And infinite prose composed by loosed tongues running dry
Reduced to the forging of avenues in the constellations
Hanging on jagged ceilings
Enter clarinets with high brows raised
To toast the skyline and whatever morning God
Has bestowed today
This breeze, and no other breeze, is a dancer
Nothing fancy or callous;
Just a ‘g’ chord of an aged Spanish guitar
Licking its war wounds; weaving stories
Against the backdrop of first light
Swirling as a drum begins to hum its beat, beat, beat.
You can hear the Sun’s heart beat
To the burning rays sweeping through rooms
Of a canvas city and its streets
Beat.
The heart pumps veins full of electricity and harmonicas
Of subtle cellos and whispered violins
And the inexplicable becomes radiant
Every note, is a myth.
Every line becomes legend.
Stuttering from the valves of a heart skipping
Beat.
Chimes play hide and seek with the wind
From an open window of a crowded room of instruments
That God plays with on the weekend
Soundproofed for the neighbors
Lest the beat, beat escapes
To reek havoc on a cul-de-sac in suburbia
Where the deaf-toned have come to live

And yes, there is room for a saxophone
Whistling jazz to the fading street lights below.
It’s morning.
And this beat was made for eyes too heavy to see through
Too wild to embrace you
Making their debut
On a paper napkin crumbled and swollen by the ink of a pen
Or the quill of a feather
Whatever

As long as the words stick together

As long as it writes

As long as the morning plays

White Curtains

2009-11-26T04:35:00.001+02:00

Brown eyes
Juxtapose tragic interruptions
Finding frequency in the white noise
Like solar flares bursting from the surface
Of a winter Sun
That sputters brilliance on a midweek afternoon
I mumble poems to the barren walls we’ve built
Here
There
Where
Iron veins run through concrete bone
A marriage of convenient smiles
Of blood and soil
Of skin and tooth
Of stars, dust, time, fire, ash, love
Seeping through
Like daylight’s flirtations
With white curtains
We turn our meteorite eyes to ceilings
And crave the great unknown

Amman Arithmetic

2009-08-25T02:37:00.003+03:00

I want a view of the city from a tall stained window
Where my mind can spend summer afternoons tracing
The jagged homes in all their sandy-colored glory
Count the halo of birds on the eastern hills
Tallying up the kites tangled in the skyline
Reckoning murmurs from the asphalt
Finding sequences in car horns
That blaze through the rocks of seven hills
From the dizzying circles to the Hashemite square
Calculating cab fare
Haggling with merchants in the souk
With their rusty weights on broken scales
Flowers. Fruits. Traffic light bargains
Selling headlines by the bushel
Sparing change for the street beggars
That the policemen give chase to

I want a view of the city from a tall stained window
Where a chorus of minarets casts echoes across the valleys
Bellowing at sixes and sevens
Through the symmetry of tongues
And checkered monochrome stones
Mouthing dialects twisted in long division
The city accumulates over time:
1902 + 1921 + 1948 + 1967 + 1991 + 2003

“Bayader?” says a soliciting bus boy
“Where are you going?,” asks the taxi driver
“Sweileh? Sahab? Badr? I won’t go there.”

So where are you going?
Which hilltop is your canvas?
Which summit is your stage?
Where do you go to bellow your immigrant songs?
The verses of displacement
Choruses laced with resilient blues
The pursuit of new dreams
Abandoned at the river banks of a dry Seil Amman

I want a view of the city from a luminous stage
From a rooftop
From a hillside
From a tall stained window
Where second thoughts are second nature
Where calculating poets write half-measured words
Where the length of an evening spreads across the width of a horizon
Where the lowest common denominator is the least common multiple

Where the whole of a poem
Is greater than the sum of its parts

Or a fraction

Of a story

Of a city

Run

2009-03-15T03:12:00.003+02:00

In the heart of this chaos
With the maddening crowd below
You flee behind my overcoat
And it is in this moment
Where dilated pupils meet palpitating hearts
Like sea shores meet wandering tides
Like the moon and Sun dance circles around the Earth
Like two passing strangers whose hands graze each other innocently
Amidst the concrete jungles of Amman
Flirting with the white surf like brown eyes fluttering
Like two tongues stuttering
Like my words
Spin your mind
Like your reason
Spins my rhyme

And.

We .

Run.

Through the clutter of angry chants and vocal fists
Flying through the air towards the barricade of riot police
Who chase us through the naked streets of dawn
With the cling and clatter of batons on shields
And the tear gas drawing wetness from our gathering eyes
Till we scatter like crows on a wire
Like the January winds catching fire
Like the mechanical parts of broken hearts
And the constant promises of false starts
Like my words
Chase the ghosts of your past
Like your fingers
Weave my place in this world

And.

We.

Run.

Through the winters of confusion and the shores of spring
Where your hypotheticals turn honest
And our hands are no longer those of two passing strangers
No longer searching for each other amidst the panicking masses
No longer shunning this moment until it passes
These are no longer the hands that stagger through
The alleys of doubts
Through the doorways of bewildered thoughts and paper poems
That no longer fold the way they used to
The way they were written
Bloody and candid
Beautiful and broken
No longer two hearts sounding their retreats on the battle field
Like the armies of dissent that beg us to run
Through these wilds streets
Where our eyes first meet
And I see your heart stand still for what would be the first time
No longer wanting to remember what it’s like to be stung
No longer wanting to end these beginnings before they’ve begun
No longer wanting to run
No longer wanting

To.

Run.

Alone.

Because our worried minds grow tired sometimes
And our nervous smiles fade from our faces sometimes
Sometimes our reason gives chase to our whims
And fate demands we surrender our arms at the door
Like the ocean of rocks hurled by once furious crowds
We careened through
From the refuge of ghosts that we'd cling to
To the quiet of places that we’d run to
And you point out, weeks later
That really
We’ve all hidden behind each other’s coats
At one time or another
As if to say:
Great things happen
When people collide

Awakening

2009-01-21T03:16:00.004+02:00

I have long danced
Around the memory of you
Reciting your poems to the constellations
I've traced along these barren walls
The ceiling cracks that I have painted crimson
With my exploding color
But in the absence of valor; I am cowardly

And I confess:
I make mountains out of molehills
It's just my way
Really
I build skyscrapers of impossibilities
Of fear and an alternate reality
Where you spin around
At the mere sight of me
And
Just
Leave

For months I have awoken
Reciting the words that I would tell you
The very story that I would say
With honesty pouring from every corner
Of my trembling flesh
And you'd believe me
Because you knew me to be true
And you'd forgive me
Because you knew me to be true

For months I crafted the spear
That I would cast in to the belly
Of the demon that brought terror to my skies
That laid before me an impossible choice
An impossible whisper of a secret

And I confess:
There are times
When I keep searching for signs
Amongst the rubble
Of your wandering brown eyes
Something that breathes the way you do
Something that moves the way you do
That still feels the way you do
Something that fills the empty canvas
Of all the dreams that I succumb to

Just a hint
Of a chance
To restart
To rebuild
To remain

Till This City Mumbles

2008-11-09T03:12:00.005+02:00

The drought that strikes my bitter tongue
Sends me scavenging through the darkness
Jonesing for a fix in the alleys of my confusion
Through the staircases of this city
The metropolitan of my youth
We lay siege to our imaginations
Like self-righteous warriors
We draw battle lines in the concrete
Clotheslines crisscross rooftops
Where the thunder and the lightening
No longer strike fear in our hearts
The starlight no longer burns brightly in our eyes
And we are not as in love (with the ocean) as we used to be
Not in this silence
Not in this hush
Not in these dark corridors
Let the vocabulary of parched lips
Have their moment
And if my words
Could still resurrect memories for you
Still carry any source of meaning for you
I would hum the traffic down
Till the city mumbles:
“wait”
Till the ebb and flow of tides slowed
As the oceans paused to listen

Storytellers

2008-09-01T02:55:00.002+03:00

In past lives
We grazed sheep
Across desert plains
Till winds chased us
Northwards

The heavy lush of gravity
Our dreams envisioned
On Hebron-blue glass;
We engineered the city
Reciting poems
In the Hashemite Square

Our fathers weave tales
From winter wool
To describe the rarity of warmth
Checkered hands weathered
From the lentil fields at dusk light
The staggering stalks of barley
At dawn
Woven in the backbone
Of a nation

Recite these words:
We are an oral history
Twice removed
Inherited by muted lips

We are a generation of poets
Romanticizing the contemporary
Discomfited by a past
We shall
Never
Ever
Know

Recycled

2008-06-26T22:27:00.003+03:00

careful!
these summer streets
have ways
of passing lies
that lie awake
like satellite moons observing
and the strong ambivalence
that this has all been done before
that this has all been said before
yes
we are ghost ships
sailing through the neon
of the cityscape
with asphalt ways
and caffeinated eyes
we read kafka and jibran
in a single breath
we sing lines to songs
about an unrequited love
hope and death
till we are out of breath
because
this is how we make amends
and this is how we start again
so
start
again

careful!
these summer streets
have ways
of passing lies
so come
light the water
when the tide comes in
destructive and rapturesque
to float away; I float away
but you are the constant
when everything in me
begs to orbit away
on slighter tangents
on brighter days
when this has all been done before
when this has all been said before
this
has
all
been
said
before

Night Dreams

2008-06-18T16:03:00.001+03:00

content to hear
that frivolous pursuits
could still move the mountain sides
the poet remained perplexed
he is persuasive
and careless with words
sending scattered thoughts into
a frenzy of superstition
and applause
he is a vigil of morbid hallucinations
in an adolescent night
yes
he's found a solitary way
yes
it's trite
but it suites him

and on slick summer nights
he goes dancing with his confusion
the abstractions
and the fast-approaching footsteps
of middle age;
grimaces of a past life
paint a landscape of whispers and melancholy
circassian rhythms
around Bedouin fires
as priest and sheik argue
over the love of Christ
with fervor
and he is carving
these imperfections
in a sandbox of reason
because words
just don't do it anymore

yes
it's summer
the pulse of air, the beat of ear drums
and that sweet, sweet hummingbird
catapulting purple halos
into night dreams
this is the part
where the city bursts
into a million pieces
and the oceans feed crazy rivers
palpitations of a home life
that suggest
trying to change the world
is a task better left
for another night

for in this hour
he is a sentimental tourist
taking mental pictures
of artifacts and the unbearable scenery
recording and archiving
the song of hurrying rivers
and the streams that carry
rare fish
galloping through his curiosities
yes
we are born in the tide of a memory
yes
we are born in a cathedral of similes
in the labyrinth of color we call love
but we grow old
yes
we grow, only to be swallowed whole
in the strangest of landscapes
finding solace in returning nightmares
in new dreams
that culminate new scenes
not vanquished
not silent
not torn
not your creature
bewildered

just a poet
trying to find his voice in this world

Say

2008-06-03T22:29:00.004+03:00

You keep waiting
And I keep waiting
And things
We
Want to
Need to
Say;
Never get said

So let me
Just say
Once
And
For
All
.
.
.
.
.

Stairways

2008-05-09T23:58:00.000+03:00

We breach the silence with batted eyelashes
Beneath a sky riddled with stars
Too hesitant to shine
Beneath roman ruins and an unhurried flag
Beneath the striking call of the muezzin
Who reminds us of who we are
We conquer this city with unbridled conversation
Wrap it delicately with makeshift words
From atop these grey and burdened stairs
Built way before our time

We breach the silence with diligence
As daylight fades from an Amman sky
And shadows find the contours and curves
Of every hill and valley
We watch
We listen
To car horns conducting a symphony of cacophony
And we imagine the voice of this city without them

We breach the silence with our persuasions
Beneath the concave cluster of stone homes
Beneath the bending trees
Beneath the nightingale's song
Beneath the cobblestone and asphalt
Beneath the purple skies and rolling clouds
Beneath the satellites and rooftops
Beneath the vanity of patrons
Beneath the neon green light of the minaret
Beneath the creeping darkness of nightfall
That waits for a summer Sun to be distracted
As it turns its attention to our staircase conversations
Breaching the silence
Until the cosmos descend
To listen

Other People

2008-05-06T20:42:00.000+03:00

There is
An unavoidable
Glimpse of dusk
And in it
I imagine your face
Plastered in the foreground
Nestled quietly between a frame
On a nightstand
Comfortably;
Disappearing into the interrogation
Of light and brick and glass
And water rings that bring
This room together like constellations

And you speak
And I listen
For a change
The gentle migration of heartbeats
That slip between tongue-tied lips
We are static
For the moment
Like white angels
Riding the airwaves
Our confidence
Wavering metaphorically in the wind

We are other people
We have Spanish names
And read dead Russian poets
To survive the heat front
From the East
We grow old
Like memories
Slightly forgetting
Our unfortunate years
Alone

Landed

2008-04-27T15:38:00.000+03:00

It's the way that

Silver steel
Wings
Cut through
Clouds.

Till
The pressure
Finds a balance.

Necks strain
To lift eager eyes
That peek through
Plastic windows slightly
At all the city lights below.

As we descend into Amman.

Postcards From The Future

2008-04-01T00:38:00.000+03:00

we sit on cliffs
beneath the sandpaper dunes of rum
red as flustered cheeks
watch the sun play
hide and seek with the blustering mountains
as we introduce the desert
to rock music
until the stars demand
our silence

we sit on green hills
overlooking castles
in the pale sky
between tormented cedars
that bend with the wind
who howls his poems
like ginsberg

we had unraveled Jordan
sometime during intermission
and took to drawing its portrait
with our frowns
using thin wafers of light
and what thunder the sky could spare

and we came home
like adventurers returning
losing ourselves once again
on streets that wind
like the mazes in our heads
losing ourselves to the image
of adult life
that we swore we'd never lead

mourn the static;
read postcards from the future
and think out loud
how sometimes...

we
just
need
to
get
away
from
this
city
.
.
.

Say Anything

2008-02-02T02:43:00.001+02:00

When i was young
my tongue would quiver
like an earthquake
fumbling like fingers for a light switch
ready to bow
ready to fill the world
with memories of Eden
and the scent of lilacs
that i could remember

When i was young
my scabbed knees were war scars
the scent of wet dew on freshly cut grass
was my cologne
and i sharpened senses
on the tip of a red summer sun
told time by a shadow
traced seasons from the way the wind
ruffled the stillness of water
in a puddle
and learned languages on a whim
with made up words
that i could mouth to the stars
in secret

words
that i have since
forgotten

fierce as fire
i could wield them
as readily as i could think them
platitudes the size of planets
and metaphors like mountains
stringing together syllables
with such sweet symmetry

but i
have
forgotten

and nothing comes to mind these days
the world has lost its brightness these days
these days
i find myself searching for the right words
just any words
to
say
anything

and i miss it sometimes
the fire
the dance
the quiver
that secret language
especially when i look
to the stars sometimes
and find i have
no secrets
to tell them

anymore

Dedicated to Maha, who told me to write about writers block in an effort to break it.

Broken

2007-11-11T02:22:00.000+02:00

i am breaking
every poem
i ever wrote to you
in my mind
every stanza
every line
i am breaking
every truth
everything said
without saying;
everything
anything
i am breaking
the silence
that you allowed
while i waited
in a cafe
corner
broken;
every verse
and every chorus
to every song
i wrote for you
i am breaking
all the letters
all the notes
the mental novel of us
the anthology of you
the collection of
my greatest works
every page
i am burning
everything
i am breaking
every dream
every memory
every aspiration
i am breaking
all the prose and
every poem
till only
the
words
remain

alone;

shivering

naked

The Art Of Learning To Whistle: Part I & II

2007-11-05T13:32:00.000+02:00

I.

I learned to whistle our bloody history through my teeth
Painted our folklore on the harsh canvas walls of caves
To remember the biographies of a continent
That screamed to the colonialist
This is the way we dance
These are our truths

Yes, every winter we ate clementines
And in the fall we picked the olives
Pressed the oil beneath our nails for nostalgia
Every spring we reaped the harvest
And every summer we sewed together
The seams of a stubborn sky
And bled,
Bled as you marched to conquer
The phantoms of our forefathers

But now,
I store your silence in the vastness of Arabia
Watching as it spills into the Sahara;
An emptiness migrating within an hourglass
Stemmed only by the waters of North African tides,
Where at least half my brown skin descended
Wandering through stretches of sands
And omniscient dunes that mark caravan trails;
Nothing but golden highways that disappear with the wind
And a soul, anchored by the weight of water, for a compass
Where all walks of life
Walk towards life
And their footsteps
Sink into the rustling earth
To become one with it;

Like Muslim prayer

II.

Outrun this red Sun's shadow
With the twinkling shards of glass
In the darkness
To guide you
Stars whose light
Forgot you
Amidst the ecliptic tides of reason
Far from men that we call fathers
And women that we call mothers
Far from mythologies
That we create of each other
And the synchronization of heart beats
With one another
Far from their armies
And their flags
And their pens
And their maps
And their love
For borders
In our vastness
Drawing lines in the sand
As we showed them our dances
And our truths

Tattooed on our wrists, the illustrations of our legends
Waiting to be told
Far from their wars
And their holocausts
Far from clumsy cities
Made of rust, and its people
Who breathe machines
And broken skylines at a time

When no one is watching them bleed

So let me whistle through my teeth
The songs of our dances
The chorus of our truths
And the verses of our poems
Let me whistle our constellations
And our histories
Through the copper of chipped teeth
Let me whistle
Through pursed lips; chapped and bloody
Let me whistle
Till I am tongue tied and blue in the face

Let me whistle
Till these words
Find a way
To conquer you

Whole

Forever Imperfectly

2007-09-06T22:03:00.000+03:00

Faceless metaphors
Hide beneath the elephant skin
As thick as thieves
In corroded suits of armor
With their cowardice departures
Of fleeting hearts
That have betrayed this symmetry
This affinity
This, forever imperfectly

So I let mind overcome matter
In a fruitless search
For the heart of matter
To resurrect the sound
Of heartbreak
To regain the lost
To build placard walls that confide us
All the guillotine halls that divide us

We were almost perfect
Like China dolls
We had meadows running through our eyes
Conjuring highways that ascended
With roads that bended
Forever imperfectly;
Guiding us towards togetherness
Forever imperfectly;
Towards parenthood and the likely decline
Towards the welcoming arms of the divine
Forever imperfectly;
Towards the turbulent flame
Where we lose ourselves
Again

Mute

2007-06-18T19:10:00.000+03:00

and it was so easy to let the silence
get the best of them
to let time slip between
what was left of them
making pride
that much harder to swallow
to make one lead
where the other would not follow
in to a night devoid of stars
on the wings of a poem
made of scars
until time and pride conspired
to destroy

both to blame, both the same;
he playing mute
to her deaf man's stutter
quid pro quo
tit for tat
inch by inch

until neither could remember
what had brought this on
in the first place
perhaps already searching
for a new face
neither willing to concede
the high ground
leaving everything
that was good between them
tied and bound
fanatical
hysterical
drowned;
in darkness
where neither made a sound
neither willing to be found
because it was so easy to let the silence
get the best of them
and in the quiet they resolved
to let time keep
what was left of them

Come To Us

2007-04-21T12:47:00.000+03:00

come to us
come to us in the cover of darkness
in cloaks and daggers
wrap your arms around us
sink the silver into our spines
so mesmerizing
so civilizing
render on to us
your bliss

speak to us
speak to us in forked tongues
and stale cliches
speak to us of new ways
discard of us our old ways
render on to us your throw aways;
your cast aways
teach us to wallow
in the madness of a skyline
that you alone have set ablaze

let us follow in your footsteps
let us stand on your shoulders
let us hide in your shadow
let us come to you
but instead you have
come for us

so come to us
like a swallow to Capistrano
your knocking grows frantic at our door
so hypnotizing; anesthetizing
render on to us your burdens
render on to us
your sympathy
your apathy
your social inequality
your cinematic philosophies
your manifest destinies
your tired
your weary
come to us
come to us
unearthed
come to us
like water on concrete
the truth finds its way
through every crack and crevice
through every nook and cranny

come to us
and we will come for you shortly
come for us
and we will show you something worth fighting for

Khutba [On The Prophet’s Birthday]

2007-03-31T14:44:00.000+03:00

I want to hear a sermon

I want to hear a sermon
That isn’t about boundaries
But about the limitless capacity
Of the human soul
A sermon not about women
Unless it’s a sermon about men
About being a good brother
A good father
A good husband
A good neighbor
I want to hear a sermon
I want to hear a sermon about hope
Instead of despair
About peace
Instead of war
About humanity
About humility
About love
A sermon not about the existance of Christians and Jews
Unless it’s about co-existance with Christians and Jews
A sermon that plucks the strings of my spirituality
A sermon where poetry permeates from a microphone
Where metaphors bleed scripture

A sermon worth sitting through
Worth listening to
Worth having my foot fall asleep to
A sermon saying something new
Where the words
Walk on the carpet of the universe
Embracing stardust and shadows
A sermon that turns darkness into light
Turns wrongs into rights
That shuts all the doors
And then invites
Me
In

I want to hear a sermon
A sermon that’s spoken once
And never again
That deserves a timeless amen
A sermon about the future
Instead of the past
Not about who we were
But of who we could become
A sermon not about any other country
But about my country
My land
My city
My issues
A sermon that speaks to me
That sings to me
That calls on me
That waits for me
To breathe every syllable
Of
It
In

On this day
Of all days
I want
To hear
A sermon

The Quiet

2007-02-10T01:35:00.000+02:00

it's mechanical:
the exhalement of silence
the single thread
from a spider's web
weaved into the fabric of the universe
that is imploding
that is folding
over and over
until the paper cuts of the galaxy
become scars from stardust
moments before the euphoria
sets in
and someone such as I ponders
the unnerving capacity
to dream
in the quiet

The Circles Of Amman

2006-12-28T04:41:00.000+02:00

We
We peel back the winterberry sky
With our brown eyes
One gray cloud at a time
We
We wear checkered scarves
Fashioned red and white
One small square at a time
Around the circles of Amman

We
We weave through heavy traffic
With furrowed brows and overcoats
Cross one bridge, under one tunnel at a time
We
We pass fender benders
Emotional wrecks
With dazed minds that keep spinning in time
Around the circles of Amman

For We
We are in your street signs
We are in your skylines
We are in your daydreams
We
We are in your street lights
We are in your dark nights
We fall asleep to you
We stay awake with you
We write poems of you
We belong to you
Every piece of you

You

We

We unfold all that's folded
Peel back your winterberry sky
One jealous layer at a time
Just one last time
We
We lay buried in the colours of your veneer
In the grayness of a new year
Shaping messages in the cold air
With the movement of our blue lips
Send them off on ghost ships
To the rhythm of their own rhyme
On a single straight line
Around the circles of Amman

Gnothi Sauton [A Haiku]

2006-12-24T02:42:00.000+02:00

un.sure how your.self
claims to know my.self more than
your.self knows thy self

Cinder Block Words

2006-11-22T15:15:00.000+02:00

In a room without a pardon
I bounce delicate words
At the white powder cinder block
Only to watch them break like China cups
And gather at the foot of these stone walls
So that my hands, half expecting
Embrace nothing in return
But so much silence can slip between sweaty palms
The spider web cracks beneath the windows
Hint of iron rust and ash revealing
And I remember
I remember to mark these words
So mark these words
With the question marks and exclamations they deserve
The synonyms I sow to reap a thousands words
A thousand words to paint a single picture
A single picture to speak a thousand words
But a thousand words that mean nothing
For a portrait of some other life
That means nothing
That leaves nothing
To be desired
But the broken chips of China
On the floor

And I know, I know
This is one lie
I've told a million times before
But I swear this time
It's true

Dry Spells

2006-10-14T12:57:00.000+02:00

with
every
fruitless
search
for
words
to
fill
the
silence
where
sober
tongues
once
lost
in
drunken
chatter
now
run
dry;

like
a
farmer
i
wait
for
spring
to
bear
new
fruit

Eppur Si Muove

2006-09-03T12:41:00.000+03:00

It occurred to me that finding God
had become a casual affair
like children tracing characters in the clouds
confusing the sky with a stage; the Sun for a spotlight
waiting for red velvet to descend
for the show to end, to fall asleep in intermission
like children often do
with cold blades of midnight grass for a bed
the constellations for a blanket
their dreams go unheard
because no one believes
in what they don't see
not anymore, anyways

So I pursue my daily madness
careful to spin proverbs into clichés
to compose me a new myth
something to placate the masses with
revolutionary rhetoric
to turn spread fingers into clenched fists
something to fight with
but far from the refuge of paper
the words get lost in the wind
and I mourn their passing
because no one believes
in what they don't see
not anymore, anyways

Yet…
there are still promises of promises to keep
still marionette clouds to puppeteer
still so much of childhood to concede
still veins of scripture to bleed
still so many unseen, unheard, unread things to believe
in the things the universe keeps well hidden up its sleeve
but nothing calls me to the center of this galaxy
paved with the muted notes of a Sirens' song
the planets on a tilt, unmoved

So I keep searching for God
with eyes wide shut
between silver lines and beads of rain
where I'd like to think He dwells
but patience runs as thin as ice these days
and it's just like waiting for a muse
to light the fuse and call the world to my attention
just hold your breath
just wait...
you're about to be inspired

World On Fire

2006-07-31T09:15:00.000+03:00

Where are the traces of our souls?
Where is the alchemy that sparks the insurgency;
that lights this world on fire?
Does it lay dormant under a suspended gray sky?
Where does the dust of heroes rest;
on the mountain peaks or in the valleys?
What wisdom transpires from the rubble;
the white concrete painted crimson?
Yet with fervor you cling to the grace of God at a time like this;
after a loss like this.
How do you come back from this;
return from the edge of a world as this?
The deafening silence;
The dark horse riding the blue zephyr to the sea

Rise up!
Let your voices be carried by the defiant wind
Remember God till you are completely forgotten
Till you are the copper that evolves into gold
What are you waiting for?
Rise up!
Fight fire with water with the moisture of the cedar
With the branches of the olive; the heavy bark of the palm
Beyond, beyond the thorns to be amongst the roses
What are you waiting for?
Search beyond the prose to find the poem
Remember that words have moved this world before
Rise up!
Let your voice eclipse its own echo
Let your soul carry the weight of armies;
the mass of the masses
What are you waiting for?
Grow taller than your own shadow and it will follow you
To the edge of the world
And back

Like Futures

2006-06-25T11:46:00.000+03:00

like light streaming through the canvas
like the grey fog torn apart
like thunder charging the sea
like blue neon
like giants on the shoulders of titans
like a silent suffering screaming
like empty halls throwing the voices of children back at them
like conversations in the wind
like loose ends tied in love knots
like fading crop circles in the sand
like bitten tongues and swallowed pride
like meaning what you mean when you mean it
like saying what you say when you say it
like Shakespeare in the park
like sad stories of the death of kings
like electric rain and restless nights
like wrestling blankets of sweet eccentricities
like lazy eyes meet heavy heads
like bruised egos turn cold shoulders
like tall tales tell short stories
like Rumi drunk on life
like keyhole silhouettes slipping through the dark
like catching your breath
like taking a moment to compose yourself
like taking a year just to find yourself
like resurrections of Gibran on papyrus
like Zeyhros bearing Icarus
like canute waiting by the sea
like symphonies
like futures
like you
like me

Rumors of Spring

2006-05-13T13:15:00.000+03:00

i walk through parks at night
my ragged sneakers scrape the surface
of invisible asphalt in the darkness
friction and gravity conspire
to give my footprints sound
and the echoes float around
through the branches of Magnolia trees
that populate these grounds

i walk through parks at night
to taste the morning dew
try to synchronise my pulse
to be on time with You
to sway with the rhythm of the dandelions
to clear the clutter from the gutters
in the corners of my mind

i walk through parks at night
to hear songs about rain
and ghosts in the wind
the weight of water
the flashes of crimson
the rumours of spring
the bumblebee's sting
feverish with desire
delusions of grandeur
i walk through parks
for the sidewalks
are spiritless and linear;
uncurled like these circular paths

i walk through parks at night
through the canals of my aspirations
the splashes of saffron
and morning manifestations
this ceremony of truth
amidst the fading constellations
i am breaking the walls of writer's block
brick by brick by brick

I search for the anthology of words
that were pieces to poems I left behind
it's 4 am and I’m writing the verse
that will change the world
in my mind
i sit on wooden benches
to night dream
to smell the fragrance of home
to hear the rumors of spring
the beating heart of that city
especially after midnight
when it's quiet

i walk through parks
back home

Today I Remember

2006-04-11T01:58:00.000+03:00

he came with prophecy
wrapped in the space
in his heart
where an angel
had removed malice
like a black seed
drawing back the velvet curtain
to reveal
prophecy
to reveal
destiny
to reveal
poetry
to submit

today I remember
the comfort
of warm stars
and crescent moons
that painted a desert canvas
he lead caravans in the night sky
with one message
one word
One

today I remember

on Sun dried
parchment
I recognize
a history
of struggles
of men and women
and angels
and prophets
in arabesque
drawing shivers
like the golden fire
exploding in Hira
to reveal
divinity
to reveal
identity
to reveal
the beginning

today I remember

and I would follow
in his shadow
if I could see only traces of it
and I would chase
pieces of it
before the wind
blew his footprints from the sand
I would memorize the lines
in this book between my hands
to remember
to submit
to something greater than myself
to something larger than the self
to run in the path
of the light he shown my way
for these are just some of the things
that I would say

if he were alive today

Two

2006-03-17T13:40:00.000+02:00

Two half lives
running in parallels
with the same directions
unaware most of the time
of exit signs
and intersections
settling for
random imperfections
but two lives
not in junction
with each other
cease to function
like an angel
without wings

Two half lives
moved by cravings
for perpendicularity
away from the cold familiarity
of solidarity
commiserating
gravitating
searching in the darkness
for the light switch
instead,
waiting
to
collide

7 Hills (Drive)

2006-03-11T01:04:00.000+02:00

From a darker threshold
new wave crawls in from the desert
on wings of happenstance
get in the car and drive
circle 7 hills
that were born
to grow old together
live and die young forever
worn out; seen better days, however
she:
she had poetry in her eyes
rose petals on her lips
always
rolling hills that the asphalt embraces
I wander through her special places
motionless curves; the sound catches me
off guard
as finger traces
the rim of a glass
reminds me how
I love this city
still

Summer nights crave
masters of metaphors
beduion cliches
playing cards by starlight
dirty cups of coffee make bad days
feel a bit alright
always
brutal in the daylight
(drive)
chorus of horns make for quicker paces
through the crowds I catch familiar faces
God knows this city's too small to hide in
rolled down windows revealing
all our hang out spaces
you know: those common places
that tend to call on memories
that time erases
always

With unlit corridors
crooked street signs and late night cafes
social blanket wraps around
beggar child, beggar daughter
ripped up weaves and filthy thieves
soliciting graffiti murals
on colossal walls designed to keep them out
so into darkness they escape
to read the poetry in her eyes
smell the iris on her lips
always
(drive)
and I listen
to the silence that catches me
red handed
always
upon tracing the rim
of the hour glass
always
because I love this city
still
and though the careless
could care less
it reminds me
that someone is looking out
for everyone
anyone
always
still

( drive )

Photo: "Amman Street Lights" by Sabri Hakim

All Those Bad Dreams

2006-02-25T00:32:00.000+02:00

That bad feeling?
That sad feeling?
That 'was it all a dream feeling'?
That 'was it like a sign' feeling?
That 'i wish i knew what it meant' feeling?
That scene stealing
heart reeling, kind of dead feeling?
That 'wanna make sense of it all' feeling?
That gut wrenching, heart stopping feeling?
That 'i can't remember a thing' feeling?
That 'i've got to write this down' feeling?
'got to tell the world feeling?
That stare at the ceiling feeling?
That catch your breath feeling?
That try to forget this feeling, feeling?
That trying to find a meaning feeling?
That ringing in your ears feeling?
That follows you around all day feeling?
All those bad feelings?
Those sad feelings?
Only remind me
that some things
are better said
with
the
lights
out

Did Not See it Coming

2006-02-24T23:20:00.000+02:00

Did not see it coming
that yellow rumbling machine
ripping through brick, glass and stone
had to find a new home
in a new town
in an old tent

Did not see it coming
that tall gray wall
ripping through the school yard
life gets a little more hard
but the books were too much to afford either way
not on what father makes anyway

I did not see it coming
I did not see it coming
Cast a stone
Break a bone
Die alone
Bloody
Hoping the world will hear

Did not see it coming
sneaky bullet
that hot hard lead ripping through
scar tissue, cartilage and bone
found itself a new home
in a lung
vacant

I did not see it coming
I DID NOT SEE IT COMING
Without a home
These sins atoned
Pray the Lord
Pull a cord
Bloody
Hoping rent is cheaper in heaven

Changes

2006-02-18T02:57:00.000+02:00

From an empty room into
a den of thieves
God waits for me
to turn the tide
but stubborn waters
and stubborn tongues
are unyielding
so instead I wait for signs
so instead I draw halos in the sand
with promises to change
to turn these circles into squares
shape this clay into a fist
make the rain dance on the surface
in the shadow of His benevolence
in the blanket of His grace
where virtue is a starfish
and moons are riddled with desire
laced with promises to change
but oceans never change
and the shapes remain the same
so instead I hold seashells to my ear
so instead I listen to this symphony of sound
and yield to the pursuit
of superior
shores

Thikir Haiku

2006-02-08T14:42:00.000+02:00

My two fingers comb through star dust
searching for His trail
33 times

~

As two black beads collide
like planets
down the string of a rosary

~

The sound they make
insinuates
that faith
is greater than gravity

~

For the universe
hangs on this string
where angels orbit
in between

~

My fingers sift through stardust
to remember
33 times again

The Right to Return

2006-02-06T11:02:00.000+02:00

With the aftertaste of teenage angst
affixed to the roof of my mouth
my tounge struggles to reconcile
the fragments, into the whole
make it look beautiful again
but i saw shadows in the fog
yes shadows!
of towering men summoned like
a series of rolling clouds
of past mistakes
the return of ancient petals
from dandelion clocks once blown
into heavy blue winds
now returned
wishing on dead stars
revisiting old scars
angry about everything
angry about anything

and in mechanical prose
I would tilt on the axis of the earth
spinning silently benathe me
in an attempt to be one
with everything
at peace
with just about anything
try to make it look beautiful again
dress up a memory to make it look hollywood again
to remember it that way again
frozen sweet smiles
stretched out for miles
picture perfect moments shrunk
to fit the seams of my wallet

but in truth
I am waiting
to become a shadow
of a towering man
or at the very least
to die young as an ancient petal
of a dandelion clock once blown

to return

Crazy Beautiful

2006-02-01T21:36:00.001+02:00

Spellbound by
subtonic rantings of the machine
crazy bitter
i keep her
in the crosshairs
with
dark passion fruit rhythm
apologetic eyes transfixed on
ready
hot
sun
bewitched on
i keep on
listening
spellbound by
murmurs of the machine
crazy beautiful
i keep her
in the limelight
dailtone and free
some demon escapes me
calling on
Phobos and Deimos
these sleeping dogs lay
conjure forth bygones
be bygones
these unforgettables
so easily forgetable
it's incredible
how crazy beautiful
this
ready
hot
sun
can
be

but the bitterness escapes me
remain colorblind and free
so be warned
gather ye rosebuds while ye may
because more often than not
the devil you know
beats the devil you don't
and i like the devil i got

I Wish I Could Write a Poem

2006-01-23T21:28:00.000+02:00

i wish i could write a poem
with sun soaked syllables
and words of grand designs
written between invisible fine lines
but revealed in due time

i wish i could write a poem
where metaphors were sad songs
and guitar chords could wrap melodies around you
surround you, like a quiet blanket
and hot peppermint tea on a Friday night
when suffocating feels like a capital idea

i wish i could write a poem
in rhythmic alliteration like
fleeing from fruitless foes
I fall facing foreign fugitives
fixing famished friendly minds with fortitude

i wish i could write a poem
where almost every word rhymed
like bright night invites white knight
and Turkish delights are quite alright
but that poem would be impossible to write

and i wish i could write a poem
where my truths casts no shadows
and scorched skylines with narrowing benevolence
would heal at the touch of my words
but long after I'd saved this world
people would remember my poem
as written by anonymous

i wish i could write a poem
with colorful juxtaposition
filled with blinding ambition
and just a little female intuition
that was sweet and pantomime
with cataclysmic rhyme
that was so sublime
it caused deja vu and amnesia
at the very same time

i wish i could write a poem
about solicitant hearts
about foolish girls and subtle boys
about politicians and bankers
about prophets and the sound a pebble makes
when dropping in an undisturbed lake
a poem about gratitude
a poem about photo albums
a poem about sweet summer nights and crisp winter mornings
a poem about whether a tree falling in a forest
really does make a sound with no one around to hear it
and a poem about how all mothers and fathers should wear
superhero costumes, so we remember their identities,
but without masks, so we never forget their names

and i wish i could write a poem
that was never ending
a poem about God
a poem about love
a poem about faith
about pain
about reflections in dark coffee cups
and the garden of butterflies in my stomach
just a poem about everything that
I could never hope to understand
let alone describe in free verse

see, I wish i could write a poem
long before now
when I was who I was
when the thought of what i was
hadn't yet become
and the thought of what is
had yet to begun

and i wish i could write a poem
that brought comfort to you on a dark night
but see, this is all that i could write

still.

i wish i could write a poem
that lingered on the tip of my tongue
like drops of bitter lemon
drawing watery eyes and lips that were stung
an aftertaste so adherent
that imaginary letters descending
formed yet to be written words
at the end of this verse
to make this poem feel truly
u...n...e...n...d...i...n...g
u....n...e....n....d....i....n....g
u.....n.....e.....n.....d.....i.....n.....g
u......n......e......n......d......i......n......g

Proverbial Whispers

2006-01-21T08:39:00.000+02:00

Sticks and stones
Break brittle bones
While loose lips
Sink tired ships
As silent fools prove
that
words
can
always
hurt
you

Ocean of Envy

2006-01-01T15:46:00.000+02:00

lover's lost love
unrequited
puppy love
swift waves
speak of
angry
blue
tides
devoid of
new love
and like
therof

so
I
recruit
armies
of
fireflies
to
conquer
this
ocean
of
envy

Enlightened

2005-12-31T12:52:00.000+02:00

if jelous stars conspired
to set the sky ablaze
they would kneel in awe
of the light God has chiseled in your heart

thus like a child blindly
stumbbling through the darkness
eyes flutter madly to brave
the brightness of yours

for
here
in
the
night
you
are
but
an
instrument
for
God
to
bestow
upon
me
.
.
sight

The Elephant in the Room

2005-12-29T02:40:00.000+02:00

pick
mental
roses
shuffle
feet
awkwardly

a
tension
so
thick
you
could
cut
with
a
knife

though
for
now
silent
scissors
will
suffice

as
we
dance
around
the
elephant
in
the
room

Did You Think I'd Forgotten? (Familiar Elegy)

2005-12-16T12:44:00.000+02:00

Did You Think I'd Forgotten?

Did you think I’d forgotten what day it is?
Did you think reminiscence comes easy?
Wait for my footsteps approaching
You’ll hear me whisper something to God
No matter, Concern yourself not
These mortal flowers are for you
This little poem is for you

I held your wrinkled hands with faded lifelines
That I could measure with a ruler
I was grasping your hand with an arm by your shoulder
Trying to make heat while your feet had already grown colder
I heard the beep
Beep
Beep of the machine
Inside, I calculated the seconds between each electronic syllable

Your daughters both cried when you closed your eyes
For what would be the last time
I wanted you to know
I have not seen them since
They live several blocks away
I’m sorry
We grew apart anyway

Did you think I forgot what day it is?
Did you think I would not remember that trench coat
I never wore it after that
In fact it still smells of salt from the freezing rain
When I stepped out on a hospital roof because I needed air
I needed to see my own breath dance like a man made cloud
Needed to be away from all those people mourning
While you still hung around
My heart is allergic to the salinity of tears
And the frailty of eager hearts
Or rather anxious minds

I read passage after passage
Did you hear me?
Did you see white lights?
I searched desperately for an angel
I hear they stand in corners
Like in movies
But I could not see
Perhaps it had disguised itself as a falling snowflake outside your window

You, your body had lifted me when I was a boy
You, your body now disappears between white sheets
You, your body chopped wood and built homes
You, your kidneys now attached to a machine for draining

Did you think I forgot the time
You told me I should stop wearing orange glasses?
I thought I looked cool back then
But you said I should never hide my eyes
For my lashes could touch a lemon sky
And make summer lemonade

I remember you drove me to the airport
I must’ve been 10
My father in the car ahead
You, driving patiently behind
‘Faster! Faster!’ I yelled
I’d forgotten that
You reminded me
I had not seen you since

Did you think I’d forgotten?
Adventures in your blue van
Out into farm land
Picking ripe strawberries
Eating mostly
Guilty red stains around my mouth
The farmer’s wife shaking her head at you

You, your smile revealing dentures and a golden tooth
You, your lips now frozen as I wash you
You, your arms with cuts from strawberry fields
You, your arms I fix to your sides
Covering now ancient cuts with wet powdered camphor and sandalwood
The Muslim way

I stood for hours I swear
I read all that I could
My feet gave way
The blood was rushing
Faster than my lips could bare to move
Or my heart could digest
I want you to know I would’ve went on
If you had went on
I would’ve kept on
Did I save your soul?
Did I help?
Did it hurt?
Did you bleed?
Did you feel it ripping away?
Did you see?
Was it bright?
Was it darker than the night?
Was it sudden?
Was it slow?
Did you feel
The undertow?
Is it true?
What they say?
About the angels
On that day?
Did they question?
Did you answer?
Did you think I’d forgotten how it snowed
The moment
The cancer took you?

It has never stopped snowing since

The View From Here [the art of slipping]

2005-12-14T13:53:00.000+02:00

winter grains of salt dissolved into powder white
glistening in elusive darkness
it crunches beneath my pacing feet
the echo moves through a hollow park
ricocheting off sleeping trees who mumble lazy words of nuisance
like soft ants whispering in Sulyman's ear
warning of the black ice laced on black asphalt on a black night hiding,
waiting
for
a
victim
like
me

whoever said "it is better to stumble than make a slip of the tongue"
has obviously not seen the view from here
a star tangled sky I almost missed
I ponder the heavy hand of fate
divine intervention in black and blue
whoever said God does not have a sense of humor
should
see
the
view
from
here

This Thing Called Palestine

2005-12-05T09:33:00.000+02:00

This woman I see
like my mother, like my sister
her hands are manifestations of modern tragedies
she grasps ink dry pens to record poetry
she breathes words into her dying lungs
this mother who is beautiful
this wife that is tragic
has a wing span that can stretch across an ocean
or at least wrap itself around her children,
who write unfinished haikus on tall block walls
words like 'this profiliterate gray is killing me'
or 'why must you take so much away from me?'
and barely audible whispers seep
in to Sun dried pupils
battered from tears of lifetimes
that could forge river deep remorse
drenched in scattered lifelines
while the heart and mind intwine
this thing called Palestine

that olive oil, soothing the blood stained soil
of roots uprooted in diaspora
branches broken like limbs, they resist with a quiet dignity
but these fathers and brothers are not this tree
they are the trappings of a cactus
that refuses to die
withstanding the might of goliath machines
it plants itself with every zephyr
every doldrum wind carries a seed
constructing new stages for its hazy flowers to dance
a beautiful display of a yet to be dreamt up color line
this thing called Palestine

But this woman, this beautiful creature
hears oceans laughing
and mountains posing for still life art
this still life town of voiceless minarets
who call in the night for an unrequited greatness
in a cry that rings of sweet lament
here, poets could write masterpiece elegies
depicting an orechestra of struggling echoes
This mother, this wife, scribbles encrypted diaries
left for a frail world to decipher
a long list of porcelin dreams she's had
described as something so divine
this thing called Palestine

Though this wall from the yard
this cemetary playground
this chisled segregation
this sweet coated flirtation
burns flag shaped tatooed scars
the stripes and stars
contrast the green and red
the black and white
for this woman I see
like my mother, like my sister
she is a footnote in an unwritten history
I alone wonder what sorrow these hazel eyes disguise
and her children are monarch butterflies
foreign to this land
she kneels on her broken hands
her broken knees
to form a pedestal on her broken spine
for her children to seize
this thing called Palestine

Water

2005-11-05T11:06:00.000+02:00

Dreaming, I awake in a pool of sweat
Reciting ancient stories that shimmer
In fragile water rings
And I immersed, come struggling up for air

Panicking, Hajar returns to find her baby’s fists
Calling blue water from yellow sand
She gathers the fate of the world in her palms

Like Nuh, calling his son from the ark
On arrogant peaks he turns his shoulder
The tide rises; the mountain holds its breath

Or Yusuf in a well, caravan pulling up a rope
Rain falls for 7 years, Earth dries for 7 years
From slave to brother, only one drop crafting fate

Like Musa, walking the wet ocean floor
Two waves, mountain high, paused yet breathing; waiting
Perhaps wondering why they are no longer embracing

Like Mohammad with his hands immersed:
Water flows. Wounded and bloody,
Future martyrs drink with tips of spears in their shoulders
thirst: an enemy in the desert

Like Hud disappointed; great black clouds carry no rain: only wind
Yunus swallowed in the belly of a whale, in the belly of a sea
Iblis from fire, Adam from dripping wet clay, flames grow softer

To Allah, who asks
"We made from water every living thing. Will they not then believe?"
A creation unacquainted with itself
Oblivious to the flow between the veins
Like a fish that does not know water
Until it has tasted air

Like the old man in a mosque
Washing his face, teaching his grandson
Rules of ablution
And life floweth through the palms of his withered hands

Somewhere, an ocean sighs
And foolish I, thought this world was made of something inexplicable

Celestial Navigation

2005-11-05T10:50:00.000+02:00

Beware!
these false idols
dancing stones
like river parades
with shattered bones
without the rain
this sky grows clearer
whispers of angels
they're growing nearer
but the feather are gray
so out of season
and empires of sand
were built for a reason

Beware!
these false idols
stealing breath
and new life brings meaning
to another old death
like sweet summer days
seem so far away
ain't winter so damn pretty
cold black smoke rises
enhaling the city

God is writing poetry on every line
God is talking riddles with every sign
and His jars of clay
are turning cold shoulders
and His jars of clay
are carrying weights of boulders
to err is human
to persist is divine

nevermore, nevermind

Beware!
these false idols
wandering on like one lost soul
in to pale white weather
with no control
making sense of constellations
guided only by stars
guided only
by the will
to breathe
warm
air

(Your galaxy is beautiful despite what we've done)

War Dreams

2005-11-04T11:11:00.000+02:00

Samer is an Iraqi barber
he reeks of sweat and cheap cologne
the wretched scent of a homeland
he has long overgrown

Samer wanted to be a doctor
but his dream conflicted with a war
he was unfit for military service
because he didn't know what he was fighting for
samer dreamt of being a doctor
but this massively conflicted
with his financial status quo
what a fate to be inflicted

Exiled to Lebanon
samer cut hair in Beurit
he lived his youth out in the 80's
it was there he learned to shoot
for it took him years to own his shop
to have his name above the door
in the darkness, with a rifle
he’d lay huddled on the floor
for his dream of being a doctor
conflicted with a civil war
that he wanted only to survive
because he didn’t know what they were fighting for
and when the rubble settled
and his shop was filled with holes
he went back to Iraq
on the heels of his soles
and at the ripe age of 30
he wanted to be a doctor
but his dream conflicted with a war
so for months he lived in prison
for not knowing what he was fighting for

For months all he saw were bars
his whole life whittled down to this
all he saw were bars
he beat the walls down with his fists
until some fat men struck a deal
and he was an exile once again
deported from his homeland
time and time again
see his whole life
was one colossal contradiction
his mind kept telling him to leave
but his heart had such conviction
it never gave him time to grieve
such desire to return
samer beat his mind into submission
to alter gravity's direction
he put his heart in its position

So after several hundred years
and several hundred hairs
in Amman he lived his 30's in the 90's
a decade on barber shop chairs
and every single day
the customers came in
they talked on and on and on
about how Iraq’s situation was grim
like a dagger to his heart
their words kept stabbing back at him
these wounds he could do without
but it was like the only subject matter
they could talk about
behind smoke screens of cigarettes
their words uninvited
with Turkish black coffee
their thoughts were shortsighted

Samer, who wanted to be a doctor
whose life conflicted with a war
Samer cut their hair in silence
because he didn't know what they were fighting for

Years later he'd return
to see if he could create
a life for both his sons
to be doctors; to be great
though his city laid in ruins
and the streets they reeked of death
so impoverished were these people
newborns never had a second breath
see those fat men that cut a deal
they traded oil in for some food
which meant if you didn’t have an income
then you were pretty much screwed
and this broken man; this barber
he simply had to leave
the gravity of this situation
never gave him time to grieve

Samer left behind this life
His mind had overcome his heart
Tangled in such sorrow
Like a broken piece of art
Samer is an Iraqi barber
he reeks of sweat and cheap cologne
the wretched scent of a homeland
he has never overgrown
Samer cuts my hair
in a Toronto urban shop
mostly from the sides, just a little from the top
I come only to let him tell his story
to give him room to breathe
even when I don’t really need the cut
it gives him time to grieve
and on cold November nights
he says, in the company of his wife
his children and brother
his home and this life
on the TV, in the papers
there’s talk about a war
he looks around this room
to remember what he's fighting for

Samer
who wanted to be a doctor
whose life conflicted with a war
Samer
in his 40's
who never knew
what all of this
was for

The Darkness & The Galaxy

2005-04-13T11:00:00.000+03:00

Connnecting with the darkness falling
falling like a star that's calling
all the answers appear misleading
and I alone must choose

Everything i know of me
is reflections of what i tend to see
but mirrors play it in reverse
mirrors lie and I immersed
in silent mellow rhapsody
a palpitating elegy
for everything i know of me
plays out in reverse

And in this inverted galaxy
move the tides, rewind the sea
it brings about the worst of me
but I alone must choose

So all the scars that mark my right
are really left, in black, in white?
perhaps shades of gray in halo light
so lines of poems I recite
lines on such a mellow night
"i wish i may, i wish i might"
wish upon this star tonight
in hopes I may discover me
reflections are what i tend to see...

Connecting with the darkness fading
fading like a star invading,
these mirrored skies appear misleading
and
I
alone
must
choose

The Most Eloquent Light in the World

2005-02-05T11:01:00.000+02:00

She, a quiet paper rose
that bellowed as a shape in the doorway
moved swiftly like the falling snow
which once began to fall
called upon her eyes to flutter madly

And I, with my pseudo esthete remarks
passed faintly in the limelight
unaware of what the balance held
I continued to read from dead russian poets
and strummed my guitar between the silences

Long before the Sun had died
an upper lip had trembled
and the cold; perhaps pretended
that the fluttering of eyes
would never beat upon my hands
like a moth raging
against the seduction of a flame

Such a novelty had this charade become
that the untangeling of amber leaves
reamained hidden obscurely in the depths of white
between the rosebush and the iris black

And I, with my bravado
caressed the candle's flame
stalling the shape in the doorway
long after she had left the room

Till the eloquent light
withered in melancholic nostalgia;
the weight of such tragedy
I was aware

Sudden State of Grace

2005-01-06T22:08:00.000+02:00

this morning
all i see
are white ships
fading into the fog
orange glow of city lights
a junkyard ambience
with locks on the chains
our eyes growing brilliant
we are strangers

here
the soapbox pulpit is bare
here
crystal rain will cling
to branches of trees
that will one day conquer this world

i envision
armies of fireflies
circling miniature deserts
swiming in the beams
like soft incarnations of truth

here
a sudden state of grace
here
the sun is sneaking
in between the trees
trespassing like unwelcomed shadows
fragments of dreams i have forgotten in the morning

i am refined
i am weathered
i have only lies to bleed
here
only skies will bleed

Times Like These

2004-11-04T19:10:00.000+02:00

A Stitch in Time (Saves Nine)
A Wrinkle in Time
Better Late than Never.
Time Flies
You’re just in time
It's All a Matter of Time
All in good time
Let the Good Times Roll
Making Every Minute Count
Never As Good As the First Time
Definitely not the last time
Never In A Million Years
Not One Minute More
Once Upon A Time
One Moment In Time
Time Will Tell
Remember The Time?

Slow and Steady Wins the Race
Sooner Or Later
Spending Time
Killing Time
Wasting time
Taking Time
Making time
Keeping time
For the last time!
Just like Dali's Persistance of Time
Or was it absence of Time?
Anyway...
Speaking of time…

It was the Best Of Times
it was the Worst of Times
The good times
All those other times
The Next Time?
There Was A Time
There’s No Time Like The Present
Till The End Of Time
Time After Time
Time Is Money
Time Is On My Side
Too much time On My Hands
Time Waits For No One
Too Late To Turn Back Now…
Turn Back the Hands of Time
Time heals all wounds
Except the ones you pick

Take your time
Change with the time
Just one more time
From time to time
It’s your time to shine
Time moves
Side to side…
Time is running out
Time is up
Time to pay the piper
It’s about time

Its times like these...

I

wish

I

had

more

time

Sad Fiction

2004-07-17T14:05:00.000+03:00

Love is blind
faith is blind
still
we walk
with our eyes closed
with the shutters
in our homes shut tight
light desperately leaking in
God despertly sneaking in
and the one eyed man we call king
utters fabrications in place of truths
in the night
flooding our minds with dreams
so that it seems
that our real lives
are stranger than fiction
and i realise
through such eyes
these reflections
are not real

but didn't I say?
love is blind?
faith is blind?
do you not know
the highest waterfall
takes more than just one leap?
even the faithless have faith
in the fact that they are faithless

these tired angels
can hardly carry their wings
how they must shake their heads
shake the world
with silent wrecking balls
alas
we are
broken records
broken records
broken records
we are rusted forks
pretending to cup the stars
like silver spoons
while the galaxy
slips through like water
because
painting the walls
of our self made prisons
does not make us free
no more than
opening our eyes
can ever make us
see
i mean
really
really
see
isn't that such sad fiction?
a mockery of such creation?
but didn't I say?
love is blind
faith is blind
these tired angels
remind me
this is all just
borrowed time

Nostalgic Summer

2004-07-12T14:19:00.000+03:00

on

sad

summer

days

I

like

to

follow

bread

crumbs

in

a

line

back

home

Breaking Gibraltar

2004-06-07T14:15:00.000+03:00

dusk is a ghost
night turning to day
i am crazed
i am jaded
i've been fading away

the moon is so low
it falls from the sky
Gibraltar represses
she turns and she sighs

barefoot in grass
only dew to caress
the liliacs are quiet
to the clouds i confess:

"teach me to read this illterate night
teach me tounges of amore
in the blinding light

write me the lyrics
in the caravan clouds
circadean rhythm
of the maddening crowds"

I am a victim of circumstance
of flower strewn prose
and the poets will dance
in the name of the rose

the world is archaic
shawllow and deep
the blackbirds are sad
and lover's will weep

for dusk is a ghost
the night circles away
i am the undertow
the sparkle jet spray

but I am too tired to pray

From Such Great Heights

2004-06-04T11:03:00.000+03:00

All my heroes
are paper thin
like porcelain faith
beneath my skin
my courage ends
where I begin
like a memory
that's never been

Ash gray reflections
in October skies
midnight rain
in mourning eyes
and on such a day
the summer dies
come what may
surprise! surprise!

The dawn is jaded
hazy moon
the fork that jumped the silver spoon
and I await the afternoon
a burgundy and suede maroon

And as the darkness craves the light
I am faithless in the night
When candy eyes turn electric white
We overlook from such great heights

Daylight creeping
the horizon breaks
with half a world sleeping
the other half awakes

Cars start
school bells ring
daylight crawls
like a silent spring
the sky is vacant
no airplane trails
the sky is vacant
from the small details

Cellophane Dreams (Insomnia)

2004-05-21T14:18:00.000+03:00

my an·no·tat·ed history
burns on the hempisphere
hazelnut coffecups
and turkish delights
on bedside manners
lay bookmarked pages of unfinished seasons
listen to water drip from a faucet
a murmur of voices
novicaine hearts
counting birthdays in dog years
deliver my deamons
deliver my art
I am Di Vinci
You are Descarte

cut across this horizon
spell out the sky in newsprint blurs
all the ashtrays and city lights
gravity flows through telephone wires
the forecast is breathing
sugarcane winds and gasoline fires
mountains will yawn; people will sigh
this desert sky
oh this desert is dry

i want to be
where the land touches the sea
with the sea as my floor
the world spread out before me
wrapped in a bubble

4 am cellophane
i suffer in dreams
i am lucid awake
i am never asleep
but i dream anyway
my days are coloured
in flat caffeine gray
the story of my life
ONE headache away
plays on the ceiling
all in e-s-r-e-v-e-r reverse
the air is distraught
with maddness and $ong

close my eyes

start to breathe

the noise recedes

oh the noise recedes

traffic is rising

this daily crusade

is my Dionysus

goodbye

farewell

to this

midnight

crisis

Man of Symmetry

2003-12-05T11:05:00.000+02:00

Man of Symmetry
your shadows are bare
naked and oblivious to me

with a bed-side manner
that could slip through cracks
we split hairs over current affairs

burried somewhere in your eyes;
confessions
suede armor between the lines

in the corner of my mind
i am courting disaster
the tip of my tounge is eager

it occurs to me
that angels on tv
have been formatted to fit my screen

hendrix awaits in castles of sand
while lennon is quiet and numb
dylan is ranting
drake is sleepless
like you: wilson is waiting to die

though they play for now
by your bed
till the hospital lights decline

the roof of my mouth misses the cold
the scales on my palm grow thin

i catch

a

midnight bus

back

home

Man of Symmetry

2003-11-27T14:12:00.000+02:00

Awakenings

2003-03-30T15:07:00.000+03:00

here lies winter
spring is broken
folding what's unfolded
waiting for
what never comes
all my dreams are spoken
morning burns
through the glass
stained with burning eyes
vision blurry
searching kindly
the sun awakes to rise
fall focused
into sudden view
this gray facade
of love and God
halley's comet fades
meanwhile waiting
procrastinating
perhaps, for dreams
that never come

Wrinkles of Time

2003-02-25T14:13:00.000+02:00

Once upon a weary night
I was left alone to my demise
Covered there in chronic stories
Lines of words that read across the eyes

On the floor and staring brightly
Ceiling is a galaxy of stars
Thinking twice and thinking over
Posters bring no solace for these scars

Staring God inside the darkness
Deciding on the perfect words to say
In the picture, in the moment
Decadence and thinning strands of gray

"What you forfeit tomorrow
Is foregone today"
The relics of hours
Of midsummer days

August is beautiful
In that certain light
In the company of angels
On such weary nights

When the cupboards are empty
And it’s too late to rewind
Apathy is waiting
In the calm of my mind...

Where the wrinkles of time come alive

Paper Poets

2002-05-30T14:22:00.000+03:00

Across the clouds, bayberry June
I etch her name on sunken moons
Paint the world in chamomile and lime

Marigolds and daffodils
Spread across these aging hills
The rhythmic waves of indigo & thyme

My paper boats on watered coats
Sail through currents down the river’s throat
To the ocean; swallow canvas green

Nutmeg roads to Avalon
Pray the paths I have foregone
Align the stars between her omniscient eyes

Search behind horizon lines
Choose my roads and memorize
The ocean filled with emptied river tides

A student of the undertow
of Kafka, Twain and old Roussou
Khalil Jibran, bergamot and rain

Persian poets serenade
Unveil the tide, this masaqurade
My paper boats may return from across the plane