May I Go Back, a Child


I want to go back, a child,
A child who does not read newspapers, nor listen to news
Does not know wars, ignorant in the art of worrying,
Does not master politics nor write poetry
I want to go back, a child,
Playing in the folds of history,
Hiding beneath a bird’s wings
I want to go back, a child forgotten by time,

Left behind, never to be seen again


I want to go back a child, lost her way to tomorrow,
Distracted by flowers and fairies
Racing to the river to throw pebbles,

Rolling down hills, climbing trees and valleys
Gathering za’ater and basil leaves for grandma’s dinner
Then running back home for bedtime story


Bathe her rag-doll in summer dew,

Embroider her a nightdress with a thread of stars,
Adorn her hair with a rainbow wreath
In her heart whisper a lullaby
Rock a bye baby, may you fall asleep,
Tranquil and serene
Blessed the Most Sublime, how glorious the gift of life
Let her sleep, let her sleep, a pair of doves, waiting for her
Fly away little doves, but not for long,
Come back and sing for my beloved so she may fall asleep


Of water and clay make a dough, bake with loves and olive oil,
So my sweetheart may in the morning eat
Pick some grapes and prickly pears
Eat sweetheart, our land is generous, our sky is wide,
Our world, is magic, our life an astounding journey


I want to go back, a child,
Stacking stones, build palaces out of sand
Verandas for homes with windows vast and tall,
No fences around, no borders or walls
Galloping down the stream at the crack of dawn
An untamed dame, riding a golden horse
To rescue the captives in dungeons below


I want to go back, a child,
Swaying in her grandma’s thobe
Carpet of poppies, splash of daisies and dandelions
A whiff of jasmine, mint and vine,
Plaiting her hair with sapphire and a moon
Wearing mother’s bracelet, mischievous joy,
Then, hiding behind the curtain, not to be chastised

I want to go back, a child,
A child who does not read newspapers, nor listen to news
Does not know wars, ignorant in the art of worrying,
Does not master politics nor write poetry
I want to go back, a child,
Playing in the folds of history,
Hiding beneath a bird’s wings
I want to go back a child, forgotten by time,

Left behind, never to be seen again


O time, be kind

Hold this fragile heart in tenderness,
For it has melted of compassion, for those in pain

Crushed yearning for peaceful past days

I want to go back, a child, sleeping like a baby,
Waking to songs of swallows and nightingales

Not sounds of bombs, wars and threat of wars
O Grace, Most Merciful, Most Sublime

Take this broken heart,
Split asunder,

Scatter its dust over this justice-parched globe

Spring water, sweet and healing

To an ebbing gasping Home


5 Responses

  1. I love your poem, Nahida.

    It also brings back memories of my childhood too, and the memories are crumpled up in shards of glass, thier cuts too deep to fathom; my childhood turned me into a poet, its dark night of the soul, was too much to bear for a tiny child.

    Geez, there I go being all raw and exposed again, oh well, you taught me that being raw is a good thing, vulnerable as it is…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Reblogged this on daninstockholm and commented:
    Beautiful work,, i highly recommend this superb blog!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Found your post on the Arthur Topham trial case on Radical Press dot com. Beautiful poem, beautiful images of children. Thanks.

    Liked by 1 person

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