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Monday, May 17, 2004


The smell of wheat-brown bread...

The smell of her,

I'd sniff

into and out of her,

as I would kiss her furrowed forehead.

The Images Triggered :

A small kitchenette,

and vegetable patch in front,

a small gas stove,

and bare brown shelves,

a tiny corridor,

as ample as the life she lead,

and memories mingled,

with the dust of the books stacked,

all around...

then out of nowhere, a Gustave Dore',

hanging somewhere above the staircase,

in it, a wide-eyed monkey,

staring at the slow-moving world underneath,

staring at her charcoal head,

revolving around

what should have been,

but never was...

Ms. Siba Al-Fahoum was a Palestinian professor who lived for the Palestinian cause, and died heart-broken with the way things have come to pass...She was brilliant, dedicated and passionate. At one time, a very close friend of the late Ghassan Kanafani -she was the last member of staff (at their small journal in Beirut) to bid him goodnight, before the morning after, when he was torn to bits in an Israeli-implanted car bomb in his garage. She was at one time, Abu-Amar's personal translator, but turned away, when her disappointment with his handling of the cause surmounted her frustration. She lived and died alone. She was as great as God could make a human.