Tag Archives: hind poetry

Off Again.

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I seem to be always leaving. Never a homecoming for me. Never an everafter. Haven’t managed the till death do us part bit.

Today I was looking at the exquisite photos of the baby girl of my friends. He used to be a love of mine, in another life. His wife is a treasure. A true friend. And their baby girl is an element of dreams, a creature of light and laughter that removes any and every sorrow I ever imagined carying in my curls.

It made me think of permanence, those photos. How she will grow and grow, and I will fade and fade, and the love we will have for her will never diminish. It made me realize I do not have that in my own life.

Love, sure.

Instinct and love beyond the mind? No.

Maybe never?

I am off again, days here and there, films to pursue, books to launch, people to interview, deserts and waters to visit, suitcases to schlep around and curse, strangers on vehicles of movement to befriend and then semi- forget.

At least, I have poetry. And you, anonymous cyberspace dweller.

Here is an old old poem I wrote.

All that may not happen

12/2007,

Beirut.

i may never know who you truly are

or what paths of secret devil

schemes and voodoo magic

brought your face

to my smile

i will not retrace the journey

to this gift of your arms

tonight

and i may never sleep till death

by your laboring flesh

but for the promise of pleasure

uninterrupted

in your cadence by my side

at all the motion

repressed or broken wild

this promise of soft vapor after

is worth a thousand words

of a debt i now

owe

i owe you lines of kisses

and poems of inconceivable wealth

for now

i offer the

sacred nothing i can offer you

fingers to clasp

silence with every morn’s dew

a memory of

my calm breath in the night

First poem of this new year.

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This is done 5 minutes ago, will need revisions. It may make it to the third book,
which I guess means I started it today…first day of my new year, one year older.
I read a headline, as I do everyday, and thought, “Shit, that’s awful”.
Then I thought, I have been thinking that for years. Is there no reprieve?
Here is what I thought after the first initial horror. Doesn’t matter what the first headline was, they
are all the same.

Headlines
Dubai, 22/4/2010

What is it this intake of breath
the word fuck hissed as if shock was
new to this body
as if this news was new to this body
what is it this slight widening of nostrils flare, tongue bloated inside
lips burnt in despair, too laden with history to
envision present, what is it, this gaping stare at jumbled remembrance-

deported from west bank to gaza- IDF pass law- apartheid
state blossoms-
this

-bodies shoveled by bulldozer to mass graves-
this

-girl, 12 yrs old,
found dead on way to market-

this

-sniper tshirt draws belly of arab womb is target
twice successful-

Where do all the tents go?
land grab graphs- walls through a father’s face
sullen concrete of his seed-

what is this

-plume of
white toxic hides shadows of the daily exterminated we

from where does it rise up, like bile, like vomit, like
acid- this surprise?
Surprise?

This has always been the way it is,
this has always been.

In 1983,
a 5-year old refugee slams her body on a warm bed, revolts a tantrum when
adults kindly confirm…‘They have to call it Israel now, honey”… what does that child
know of stolen family?
Children learn.

What is this
this intake of breath at headlines- gaza ramallah jenin-
-netanyahu dines at white house- clinton says security first- abu mazen seeks presidency- old man dies of lack of electricity-

I have heartburn where I once had pulse, I have
spasms of stomach too full to chew this new
news I digest no more,
what is it, this surprise…”how could it possibly get worse

-fuck-

they slaughtered over 400 children just last year alone