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Sunday, July 12, 2015

For Sophie, My Beloved

Creature of God
I love you.

Creature of God
who knows fear first
and love when it comes,
I love you.

Creature of God
who kneels,
who shows thanks,
who knows not how to praise,
but knows how to express
I love you.

Creature of God
who protects
and self-sacrifices
for love,
I love  you.

Creature of God
who knows not God,
but does more for God
than most,
I love you.

Creature of God
who knows not God,
God loves you more
for you are most worthy.

Tuesday, July 07, 2015

A Foam Cup

A foam cup
sits at the water fountain.

and half the floor is consumed;
the other half, observant.

Struggles in obedience,
and ambivalence;
with some agnostic side-line stares.

A foam cup
sits single
not so lonely, 
it actually stands...

A foam cup 
conveniently near water
close by,...more water
...a closet.

A cup
it speaks.
Ramadhan and
Ablution is upon us
than any abnormal day...

The Fast,
the cup, 
a sign;
it speaks not of breaking a fast
and other 
more significant  words.

Note: Inspired by a foam cup sitting on a water fountain next to a water closet in a State building in Ohio during the month of Ramadhan. There were a number of Muslims fasting on the floor that month. Someone needed it for Ablution and other Islamic rituals. 

Thursday, April 30, 2015

The Time of Being

The prize of solitude I reaped
endless nights of concrete streets
Sophie digging her nose into crevices
craving hints of previous passers.

Dreams of August drizzles
rinsing the pain of parting
though Lina still smiling
lingered in the precipitation.

Rituals of walking worship
in my footsteps
Sophie barking her misgivings.

Hours minutely revisited
flaring contentions
roped into my hair
flying at my face
my life
a sisal footbridge
coming to a standstill
stepping down...
stamping the ashes
of memory
with every stride...

Crystal darkness
tomorrows following
my shadow
against a backdrop of
celestial promises.

A crown of clarity
I adorned
a still world
in a non-moving moment
perfumes of white white
rose petals pampering
my nostrils
as though God was going to snuff out
the next whiff.

It was that time of being
I missed...

Wednesday, April 08, 2015

Mama's Kitchen

The solid bread on
the warm wooden table
under the neon sun
that lights your kitchen

a gray strand of hair on
the just-wiped tiled floor

and the Muezzin calls
from the patio window.

It is the dusk of our lives.

The mechanical voice
of the TV announcer
yet another battle.

Still, the scent of ablution
from your palms
my corrugated brow.

You kneel
and the sustenance
of forever compassion
is your promise
as you talk to God.

Your kitchen is not our memory anymore, Mama.
The original
has found a resting place
of scorched stone
in Hai Al Jamiaa.

Here in Amman,
you cannot uphold the walls
of a home
that can gather
the peace
we once breathed
when the world acknowledged
as humans!

Your trying fingers
cannot knead
any more flakes
of make-shift safety
into our Khubuz, Mama...
It will not rise.
It has not risen in 13 years...

Nor can you raise a sanctuary
from within the darkness
of foreign sands
that rage
with our very presence.

You love on.
It is all you know.
You will love on
so we can live on.

And all the broken bread, Mama
all the cracked neon sunlight
and burned wooden tables
cannot bring back
what you want more than life for us...
our land
with your very own kitchen.

Thursday, March 19, 2015


Matters that should have been left to God
to ponder
God who adores all 
and yet none
when creations matter

Eyes awaiting 
determinations from the firmament
infinity & successive massacres

Remnants of children
with hands up 
in the face of extinction 
they see in a camera

Torn roots 
as God's humans stand

Earth unturned
in all the crimson
that God can bury
in one

coup de grace..

Source: Turkish News Agency.  Hidayat, a 4-year-old Syrian refugee in Turkey 
raises her hands when confronted by a camera that she perceives as a weapon.