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,
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,
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
Filed under: heart songs, soul songs |
Poetry for Palestine 
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…
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The more raw you write, the more souls you caress ❤
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Reblogged this on daninstockholm and commented:
Beautiful work,, i highly recommend this superb blog!
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Thank you Daninstockholm
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Found your post on the Arthur Topham trial case on Radical Press dot com. Beautiful poem, beautiful images of children. Thanks.
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