Smells like Christmas

It smells like Christmas in my kitchen,
smells like the time I stopped
in the heart of the house

right in the middle like a clot
not moving nor let anyone move
to make Christmas over cold stoves

here is a list of things you need for cake
that serves 6, realistically
even if you are on your own:

* peeled apples
* 3/4 sugar
* flour
* cinnamon
* nutmeg
* salt (to taste)

I stand on a flat corner
kneading the flour
needing a listening ear

I stand in the corner
in my house,
shaking like a belly dancer after a long show
cupping powdered sugar to an empty heart

No appetite

there is no will
you tell me after I nudge you

to eat, to drink
even to live

this is a deep hole that you've sunk in
there is no one to claim

parentage reasons
you hear of wired words hanging:

triggers, envy, exhaustion
fatigue, lack of color, heavy eye-lids
unmatched skies, refusal of entry,
change, chaos, relaxation

the set continues
while you've lost the appetite

to even breathe
call it desperation, some say

but it is all in the gut, I answer.

Hug

A hug, that binds
the pieces crumbling
that's all my heart needs.

Freedom is restricted

close your mouth
put tape over its corners

tie your legs together
with a stone, send it down a lake

put your hands to other use
than typing on a keyboard

avert your eyes
from areas marked with "caution"

cut all buddings of feather
growing between your shoulders

this is natural, a redefinition
of you being free to be restricted too.

A game of hands: rock, paper, scissors

it used to be a childhood play
that my hands would tell
your destiny

Read the rest here: https://crevice.ro/a-game-of-hands-rock-paper-scissors/

The girl behind the camera

The girl behind the camera
is the one seeing you
not seeing her

it hurts to see the stars
yet only feel their glow from afar

an awkward second

Are we related?
the question comes up
as the waffle gets colder

sleepless in your own bed

Much misery happening in your head
it is a shame
you lay sleepless in your own bed, every night

Language on a crutch

I have severed the tongue in me, left it to wander for years
my native language limps onward
it walks by me on a crutch

Sharing stories

Like word of mouth
is the story, formed with superstition
leaves way for blabbermouths
to keep on rambling

Weariness in the step

This land makes me, this land kills the things I love
dreams dreamed out of the clouds
weaved with the sun, everlasting rain
this land makes me, Za'tar
breaks me bread, whole-wheat engulfed
kills the chance of standing on my two feet
without crutches propelling me upwards
this land kills those who love it,
with its thrones, with its rye
with what makes of it, a boundless emptiness
without borders or barb-wires.

this is the history of the lineage of women

This is the history of the lineage of women before you
those who were refused by mere being of age
of a certain skin darker than yours

this is the history of the line of women before you
ones who didn't talk about the lining of mistakes
over jealousy like butter and jam

this is the history of the line of women before you
who stood tall in heels
even when they preferred to be sitting

this is the history of the line of women before you
who never got a chance
in the first place to think deeply about the ways one loves

this is the history of the line of women before you
who failed at saying their mind
because speaking in a certain tongue chaffed at eogs

this is the history of the line of women before you
who realized they will become lessons
to the women who came after them in bold marching steps.

routine

A day recoils

With an old, warm fool surrender

This is routine 

manifestations on the world Batel (useless/lost/gone to waste)

Batel 
is the way you define the lack of use, we say batel
as in discarded, as in empty and cast aside on the road
like an old flute that can no longer hum melodies

Batel 
is the way they tell you age shows in your bones
on the skin marks creasing over your eyes
like age is more than the strikes the sun makes on your face

Batel
they hit him with egg and shoes
like all men do to those who commit treason
like those who are batel by virtue of uselessness to the nation

Batel
the way his hand turned around her neck
like a rope on desire
as in throbbing, as in harsh- the marks left behind

Batel
from Batal, a hero
that who makes of himself a story, after uselessness

Batel
is the way you define the lack of use
as in a self carried like the stars across the seas
as in a redefinition of the ways a gate closes on its secrets
like an old flute that can no longer hum melodies
batel,down-right useless, this power in the words.

effort

There is a chance you take on kindness
an attempt to shine a light where there is no electricity
efforts you take leading nowhere

challenge to pick sides

It is a challenge
to pick up a side, in a battle
if you are always looking at it unfold from outside.

a muted celebration

How to do you dare to celebrate
when the world around you burns down
you mute the noise, that is the first step
then you light a candle
then you blow it
then you wish, like a five year old child
you wish that by the turn of the year
it turns better, this,
this is how you cultivate hope

I carry the music

I carry the music in me,
to help me batter death
like an egg leftover for too long

I carry the music in me
like a faith that I had to find
missing like a grain of wheat

I carry the music in me
like an ache that has been
transported on the keys of the piano

I carry the music in me
like a shield that will keep
the march forward going steady
regardless of the rain or shine

paper-wasting

You waste paper
think you ruin earth with demand of trees
cutting down into sheets
forgetting that money too is paper.

a question evades her

lover,
do you expect me to answer
every time you call, while I am sleeping?