how my eyes see your eyes is a long story, endless and reckless, drowning and thriving, it goes something like this if words could be less maniac to me- stage 1: I cannot look away, they drive through me like arrows shot right piercing into the layers of hollow hideous hideouts and all of… Read More stages of your eyes on me
blood looks different on every letter that I write to you. they all reek of my desperation, like your heart reeks of me. my fingers have forgotten how to move in circles over ridges and falls of your name, but my dreams whisper your name to me at 2:14 a.m.; remember how you left me… Read More c l o t s
Yateem(Arabic) : Orphan(English) ‘Umi, It’s been fifteen days you went out looking for Abbu, I count nights with your needle on my fingertips, my blood oozes out in red. ‘Umi, I am still staring into your eyes, trying to read the words in your silent war. I woke up in the middle of my sleep.… Read More Yateem
The last time you were home, the six walls felt like shelter in the midst of a hurricane; we sipped cold coffee toppling with ice cream, took out our paint brushes and instead of the blue galaxy we dreamt of painting in a cloth big enough to hide us from the wars outside, you drew… Read More Le dernier
Dearest, this is a poem in breaks like our kisses on the edge- we both are at home, homeless- we both are in love, loveless. Our hearts are as dark as the creases of the bedsheet at 3:30 a.m. and we wonder why we shone at 5:00 a.m.- the curtains were drawn closest. Dearest, we… Read More 5’0″ x 6’8″
death comes to me, in waves- in the clotting of blood on my fingertips, my lips tasting the same on my wrists- in the crumbling of the letters addressed to you, dying lusty deaths in my closed fists- in the eyelashes of a lover that weaved dreams for me, the Rhapsody now sounds like dirge,… Read More Death, in waves.
Across the warfield, there is a garden- where paper-flowers breathe life, and grow into hearts. Across the warfield, words inked on letters come to life when lit on fire- the ashes mix with blood to form scriptures. Across the warfield, there’s a mountain; where nothing but feet is allowed, nothing but broken hearts sing. Across… Read More Across the warfield
“Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I did not die.” I am the leftover tea in the kettle, in the kitchen of the house, that you set on fire, because I prayed in green. I am the broken ribs of the boy, who lay dead with a cap on… Read More “I am your Republic.”
‘I promise.’ It was dark and silent. I could barely hear maa’s sniffles, over my heart knocking on the walls of the cage that was built of rotten flesh and stitched skin- I could barely see baba’s eyes, turning red and teary, as he looked away from me, staring into the void, running out of words to… Read More I promise.
last night in my dreams, I screamed aloud, ‘freedom, freedom, freedom!’ my lover lying naked next to me, his hands wrapped around my neck like a noose about to tighten on my life, and choke me to oblivion- woke up, startled! he was drowning in worries, and miseries, trying to loosen my anchor, trying to… Read More f r e e d o m ft. love