A Different Dream
I shrank in the swing like an embryo in a womb .
It began to sway me between two olive trees , under the rain.
I saw him...
On the other bank of the dream he was flapping his wings.
He saw me ...
Each bank went closer to the other.
As I looked in his eyes, I saw the sea, which has
always obsessed my dreams , and drove me to wait for its waves so long.
Her reproach woke me up :
- Are you still dreaming?
*Oh, again .....!!
-Wake up. Stop weaving threads of illusion around you.
* Why should this annoy you..?!
-Because You think that life is a dream.Open your eyes. Look around you. Don t you see war which may outbreak at any moment, don t you see our father who was thrown on the bed of pain since their company declared bankrupt,don t you see our brother who was forced to quit the university in order to work and help us survive , don t you see our mother suffering
silently while depression ...
I interrepted her whispering:
*Merely, because of such reality , I do need to dream. Do you understand now......?!
I resumed swinging . When the swing lifted me high, I saw my sister " upside-down", and when it brought me down , I saw her " downside-up" !
She did not give up. She went on but with a decreasing anger:
-Honey, if you wish your hand to reach the top of a tree, you need a ladder..
I declared while I was looking at her "downup-side":
* I have a ladder which can make me reach the sky.
I resumed,passing the colourful beads,one by one,in the thread of dreams.
Vote 4 Me
Out of The Reach
of Any Hand
:I ignore her routine insistance
(Go to wash the dishes,Hanady)
by sneaking from the back door to the garden .with a rope in my hand
:Excitedly, I begin to race with time
... One jump, two , thr
. A hand catches me
You are here, while I am withering there from -
!!..cooking, brooming and ironing
..!! How heartless you are
My heart fells down. I see it rolling away and away till it settles in a spider's net.She grips my dress and begins to push me in front of her to the kitchen. She takes the rope from my hand and begins to cut . it to pieces and throw them in the basket of rubbish She does not notice the stars which began , to fall from my forehead . nor the sinking of my ships , Before disappearing behind her shadow : she threatens me
If you don’t begin immediately to -
wash the dishes, your punishment will be .worse than any time
I begin to feel the water in the wash-bowl . and enjoy its warmth The bubbles which fly around me .like coulerful butterflies attract my attention
.. I pick up a dish
... I make a rope
... With every new dish I fly high,high
.. Above the buildings
.. Above the plains
.. Above the sea
.. Above the stars
. Higher than the reach of any hand
and One Story
I used always to see it from my acute corner, stuck silently on the wall, near the window which overlooks the garden through iron bars, unable to change its position.
( SHE ) passes by it every morning, with a lipstick. Her hand begins to shiver as it reflects a pale face. The lipstick falls from her hand and keeps rolling away till it settles at the foot of the girl who sits waiting impatiently for her mother to leave the room.
( The Girl ) sneaks to it with the lipstick in her hand and begins the ritual of passing it on her lips . Delightedly, she sticks to it, nose on nose , mouth on mouth. She goes far from it, dancing with feminine affection, combing her long brown hair by her ivory comb, decorating her hair with red butterflies , dreaming of Snow-White . She talks to it:
( Mirror, oh mirror ! Who is more beautiful , me or Mam?!)
Nobody could wake her up from that rosy dream except her mother's reproach:
(We are late for the kindergarten, darling ..!), and her father's shout as he snatches the lipstick from her hand, terrifying her as if he were "The Humpbacked Of Noterdam" :
(You'll drive this girl crazy ! Why do you buy such silly things..??)
The three of us hear the groaning of a woman behind the wall.She sits in her room dreaming of a prince who will meet her in a royal party, fall in love with her and trace her with one shoe in his hand till he finds her and saves her from the cave of agony.
(HE) has never approached that mirror since my mother died and I moved to live here with my eldest sister. He dresses up in a hurry as if his appearance does not mean anything to him. However, If it happens that he glances his face in that mirror he will convince himself that it did not reflect his real face.
I used to spy their faces in that mirror in order to write about them , for I see that writing will always be my eternal mirror.
Am I my brothers keeper..?!
The newscaster s face appeared in his usual seriousness:
(God s peace, mercy and blessings be upon you).
òSoon after his wishes for peace, scenes of destruction followed: human cells spread in the air everywhere. The voice of blood is heard screaming from every spot in the earth.
The newscaster is interviewing an American official in an attempt to expose the real face of his humanity. Many shouts and insults.Another official leaves his seat without apology.
I start scratching the scalp of my head. Something thorny hurts.I Press one nail on the other.
- Lice ..!!
As if the pain I suffer is not sufficient to meet my daily needs.
As if I need a dose of an additional pain.
I feel extra worried.
I run to the bottle of kerosene.
I pour abundantly on my hands and wash my hair.
I start coughing.I run to the window.
Staring at the passers by in the street which extends to the garbage container, I see human ghosts moving in every direction. Each of them is scratching either his own scalp or the other s in disharmonic rhythms.
Dreaming of Santa
The path of pain is crowded with many hungry, barefoot Palestinian children who walk towards the Calvary barefoot, yet, surrounded by the Christmas illuminations.They are born to carry the cross and look for identity. Many have witnessed the demolishing of their houses. Many are left without any shelter. Many are left without a parent to supply the basic needs of life.
The same path is also crowded with many Jewish children who live under the fear of explosive human beings. They suffer from nightmares. They feel scared to leave to school in the morning. They feel terrified to sit in a bus which may explode at any moment. The idea of a missile, flying in the sky, landing in the playing yard or near the warm bed is awfully terrifying.
All those children live in the so called: Holy Land , which is supposed to be the land of peace, the land of love, the land of forgiving..!!
At Christmas time, one may ask:
For whom the bell tolls..?
Who has stolen the dreams of such innocent children..?
Is it he who comes to steal, kill and destroy..?
But, isn’t it the duty of mature people to wake up from such a terrible nightmare by changing attitudes, by accepting peace and walking the path of a stable life..?
Isn’t it time for mature people to realize that violence brings more violence, and Blood Shed makes us lose the basic traits of our beings: HUMANITY.
Isn’t it time for Cain and Abel to realize that they are brothers that souls are more precious than soil, that any crisis can be solved if it is fed by good intentions.
It is the most proper TIME for those innocent children to live, rejoice and dream of Santa peacefully.
Inside a Cup of Cold Water
Finally, I decided to break that triangle of silence between us.
As I handed him the cup of water, I imagined that the drops began to wave
inside that transparent cup.
I began to talk to him reproachfully:
- Won't you leave this newspaper and go to replace the gaz-masks as all sane people have
done...?! Haven't you realized that war is about to break out and that all people have
got their provisions of plastic covers , mineral water and canned food...?! He glared at me as if I were his pupil caught at a moment of weakness.
Nothing stood between me and him at that moment except that cursed newspaper which seemed to challenge my revolution by its red bold head-title :
" One God and One Life"
Coldly, he pulled up the cup of water, put it at the edge of his mouth ,
pulled it higher
and began to sip all the waves till the last drop !
Thus We Sing
Alleys are still sunk in the silence of the curfew. The kid with the long tress and moony face is still sunk in the ecstasy of spoiling- Venus; the Siamese cat, with the white fur and bright eyes that reflect the greenness of olives.
Somebody cannot stand the four walls.
A hand is moving slowly to set the door free. An eye which is overlooking the Alley is looking for an outlet.
The cat takes the opportunity of liberty. Fearfully, the girl runs after hope...
A wild shot is heard in the narrow Alley.
An innocent cry is heard exploding in the narrow Alley.
That Robot who has settled on a cloud; suffering the rain and cold; has to fulfill his profession honestly. It requires that any prey which is tempted to break the 11th commandment will be hunted.
Vote 4 Me
2007 / 12 / 5
Another piece of bob corn; coincides with the announcement of the presenter on the fall of a tribe of innocent people who tried to flee the terror of death, under the rubble of a house; were shot by (smart) missiles on the public highway.
Many other pop corn pieces...
When will the order arrive..?!
It is being delayed beyond any patience of waiting.
My blood began to curdle. Paralysis conquers my mouth.
A door knocks!
I take the order.
What a beautiful coffin? It is exactly my size.
I lay inside it.
Death is a defeat, but who cares..?!.
My death will pass peacefully.
No mouth will come to mourn me.
Do I care..?!
A moment before pulling the coffin cover over me, the smell of moldiness, emerged from various directions, with different intensities.
Vote 4 Me
2007 / 12 / 5
Waiting for Me
Inevitably, they are still waiting.
Well, here I am ready to go back to the land of milk and honey.
But, what is all this destruction? How has the Cactus been covered with blood and dust, how?
Oh, Lord! Where are they? Aren t they used to wait for me in the streets singing..?
Well, I ll look for them. It, may be a good surprise.
The more I look around, the more I wonder. I start looking for a glimmer of hope.
From afar, I see an illuminated room. It looks like a big cage. My shadow beats me to it. I stand nailed to the transparent door looking inside.
Uh, here they are. A group of them is sitting on the right and another on the left, each behind a machine. Images keep flashing while sound effects of shots and noise rise until reaching the far spots of the Earth.
No one notices me.
I knock on the glassy barrier. My heart rejoices:
- Dear children, I am here. Here, loaded with toys...
No one cares.
An irritated voice asks: Who is this red old man?
A nearby child pulls his eyes away from the screen for a moment in order to play on the guitar of compassion:
– Poor Santa! He is still living the dream of return...
Vote 4 Me
2007 / 12 / 7
Our Daily Bread
My ink is a sparrow looking for a grain of wheat.
I surrender to the appetite of writing by watching the street.
An old man is dragging his shadow behind him.
He stands still behind the clean window which separates us.
He stares at the two fish in my spicy dish.
He looks at me.
Before leaving, he fills his lungs with the air of this place.
I sip from my lemon tea and decide to watch him.
There he is crossing the street directly to the garbage cart.
He reaches out and excavates…
He reaches out and chews...
He reaches out and lives...
Indeed, a piece of bread, even if it is rotten,
may be enough to resist the overwhelming darkness of this world.
It is enough to save him from losing himself.
Vote 4 Me
2007 / 12 / 11