A return to water

this time I come to you, silent

but not heavy and you,

you greet me accordingly  thrusting bodies

and old flattened glasses at my ankles

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Sleeplessness

Lately, I couldn't sleep

there were far too many stars to count 

alone, like pearls on rings, steady and clear

Sleep never visits those seeking the light

it is born out of the darkness, so sleep

creates more darkness 

less light, what if this was the secret formula

for a better night's sleep? Let the light in

turn off on the darkness, and the dull lull of humidity 

engulfing my chest. 

Peace comes from within

You ask me to tell you about my blessings
but all I can see is what I miss
a cup of coffee, a drink with ice on a summer night
and peace, just peace.

In arson

Nothing left in my brain
but a child, lit a-blaze
like stars in the night sky

it all happened at night,
the glow, the extra heat
as if July is not sizzling enough
it never was a good month

this morning some wake up
from a nightmare,
the bus was late, the train ran
without consideration of sleep time

the luxuries of some are the basics
of others. Some woke up this morning
from a nightmare, apples were falling from
the sky. while some woke up into a nightmare

there's nothing left of him
but the months not lived,
a bottle half-melted,
and an inability to tell his mother:
Good morning.


This poem is dedicated to baby Ali Doabsa who was burnt alive this morning. The picture bellow is from the press, not mine but I don't have an idea of the photographer's name. The bib that's left of the baby says: Good morning mama.

Trying, too hard

It is inevitable to climb a brick-wall
like the end to a metaphor, normal
for the completion of the day, transgressing
into an indigo of nightfall and nightmares

there are a few things left inside
your swift shutting of the world
a little bit of dust, for glorious deserts
there are lizards to announce the winter

there are a few things left for one human
the attempt to leave
and the power to stay behind.

hair like gold

maybe someone is losing themselves with the details of your face
the mole on your left cheek,
the high brow
while I hug the sheets contemplating
the curls of hair blonde and ashen you call
waterfall

Unbuckle

sometimes sunlight serves us more than we know
like the revelation of hidden shadows, you try to skim out
Unbuckling the night