When I was seven,
At gunpoint,
I was driven out of my homeland, Palestine
A Naksa, survivor, daughter of Nakba survivors
Eyes moist, gazing at the horizon
Fixated towards Jerusalem
Ever since
When I was seventeen,
My family departed Libya, moved away, as did I
Leaving all my friends behind
“I will not go through this again” I thought
“No more friends, no more love, no more gain
No more loss, no more separation, no more pain”
I said to myself
At twenty seven,
A stranger in a strange land, London, UK
The chest of my beloved was ripped open
Valve replacement in his weary heart
Standing by his side in ICU
“Wouldn’t I wish it was me under the surgeon’s knife”
“I would cope better, if I took your place”
Anguish unbearable, legs… jelly, I fell to the floor
At thirty seven,
Gasping for life, in a hospital bed
Embroidering hope with a phantom thread
Wavering in and out of existence
Four years in the abyss
Watching in despair
My children growing
Playing alone, dressing alone, reading alone,
Going to bed without mama’s song or bedtime story
A breathing shadow
I linger at the brim of sanity
In daunting anticipation
Dreading the relentless daily questions of my toddler
“Are you feeling better, mama? Can you give me a bath now?
Can you tell me a story yet? Can we play outside today?”
“Does that grey colour in your hair mean you’re going to die soon, mama?”
At forty seven,
Grieving the sudden loss of my soulmate,
Burying my beloved in a faraway graveyard
Frozen, I curl inwards,
Staring at his face fractalising, covering every spot I lay my eyes upon
Frantically I run to me
Flicking through my memories
Searching every corner of my lost mind
Exhuming my heart, tearing it apart
Chiseling the kernel of my soul with my bare hands
Maybe, just maybe, I could find Khaled’s grin again
Meet his shadow, kiss his forehead
Catch a whiff of his scent around
Or hear one of his heartbeats just one more time
At fifty seven,
oops, not there yet !
* * *
NO… NO
Don’t get me wrong
I am not complaining, not at all
I’m merely describing the lowest points in time and space
On the map of my journey, in the canyons of my soul
* * *
The rest is magic
Swaying hills, and gushing waterfalls
Great big mountains with high altitudes
Buoyant meadows, and dancing rainbows,
Flowing rivers, pounding oceans, hymns of gratitude
Thank you Allah, Shukran ya wadoud
Filed under: soul songs | Tagged: life, love, pain, suffering |
Poetry for Palestine 
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