Are There Really Any Words?

Wings

Words are a blessing,
That we use to express everything
But are words really enough?
~
Is there really a word to describe…
 ~
The longing that sweet memories cannot satisfy?
The heart-flying feeling under the umbrella of a blue sky?
The breaking sweet pain that holds the hand of healing?
The steady chaotic rhythm of events unfurling and swirling?
The melody of rising and slippery sliding hopes?
The recognition of metaphysical ropes and incredible power to cope?
The music of even anxiety, suspense, and naive expectation?
The new life breathed into one held hostage in a moment of inspiration?
The way one’s heart swells at the sounds of truth and recognition?
~
Oh, what can one really come to say
When there doesn’t seem to be a right way…
~
To describe —
longings, heart-flying feelings,
musics of states, inspiration and heart-swellings…
breaking sweet pain, chaotic steady rhythms, hope,
rising and falling melodies, and metaphysical ropes…
~
Are there really any words?
~
Romantic Red

 

And God knows Best.
A.S. (Dec.2, 2017)
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Wordless Poetry

A Beautiful City

When you think of poetry, your mind drifts to paper

Paper with words artistically linked together by a writer…

But what if I were to declare that poetry can be wordless, too?

《》

Poetry is the wind’s sweet caresses on your cheeks through an open window

Poetry is allowing your inner positive energy to surge upwards and make you glow

《》

Poetry is the majestic standing of a white mosque’s pillars

Poetry is entering a new space and feeling like it’s somehow all familiar

《》

Poetry is the resilience-themed messages sprayed about with graffiti paint

Poetry is reading a soul-fulfilling book in a cozy coffeehouse so quaint

《》

Poetry is the quiet playing of Coldplay’s best songs against the backdrop of Ramallah’s streets

Poetry is you turning an empty canvas and acrylic paint into your own secret retreat

《》

Poetry is the plentiful “astaghfirullah” signs on orderly lined up palm trees

Poetry is the cheerful morning sounds of roosters and darling birdies

《》

Poetry is the waterfall-like effect of vines against rocky walls

Poetry is the sound waves of overlapping athan, or prayer calls…

《》

When you used to think of poetry, your mind once drifted to paper

Paper with words artistically linked together by a writer…

But now you know, based on the journeys you flew

That poetry can also be wordless, too.

Pretty Pink
God always knows Best.

Nov.19, 2017, on the way to Hebron from Ramallah

– A.S.

Have You Ever Found Soul, Heart & Mind Scattered?

Under the Lemon Tree

Have you ever found your soul’s song scattered about?

There you are

Seeking…

Searching…

Finding it…

Between bulky boulders and rocks

In quaint dessert cafés that barely sleep, no matter the clock

Among thorny plants and at the sight of a cactus

Under thick soft blankets that melt your coldness into bliss

During a simple olive-picking activity

Or when standing beneath the shade of a lemon tree —

Have you ever found your soul’s song scattered about?

Have you ever found your heart beats scattered about?

There you are

Seeking…

Searching…

Finding it…

In a yellow taxi cab playing classical Fayrouz

During a road trip car playing Oumayma Khalil tunes

In a stab of nostalgia, hearing Rihanna in a Hebron shopping mall

At the sight of a man proudly galloping in traffic, on a horse so tall

Against the backdrop of scents, spices and music in the open marketplace

With the rhythm of footsteps walking distances in the lit-up night space —

Have you ever found your heart’s beats scattered about?

Have you ever found your mind’s thoughts scattered about?

There you are

Seeking…

Searching…

Finding it…

In the eyes of kind, compassionate, down-to-earth people

As you acknowledge this land was walked on by prophets without equal

In the bubbling words of an enlightened, engaging conversation

Upon entering any shop that is casually playing Quranic recitation

In the sanctity of being in the Ibrahimi Mosque, or Cave of Patriarchs

In the old stone buildings, colourful fall vines, and structural archs — 

Have you ever found your mind’s thoughts scattered about?

Have you ever found your soul’s song, heart and mind

All

Debating, wondering, arguing,

persuading, agreeing, disagreeing,

musing, guessing, being certain,

being uncertain, pondering, reflecting —-

On what home means?

                          On where home is?

                                                    Who home is?

                                                                           Why home is?

Alas.

Have you ever found your soul’s song, heart and mind scattered about?

Pinecones Galore

And Allah knows Best.

-A.S.

-Written November 11, 2017

 

Standing the Test of Time

Old Original Masjid Al-Aqsa - Ancient Pillars

I’ve travelled across certain parts

Of the East and West

And witnessed that which

Boldly stands and passes time’s test.

Whether I saw the confident

Waterfalls of Niagara Falls

Or the humbling mountains

In Palestine, proud and tall

Or the talented clouds that softly dance

Across the skies

And beautifully play with the sun,

Lingering behind them in disguise…

Immediately,

What comes to mind

Is how these creations

Stood, and passed, the test of time.

Whether I saw the ancient powerful

Pillars of the Masjid al-Aqsa

Or the Aya-Sofya and Blue Mosque

In Turkey, full of awe

Or the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem…

I notice one thing all these

Man-made structures have in common…

They stood their ground

Through rain and sunshine

I can only marvel at how

They passed the test of time.

Beyond Beauty

The architects of sacred buildings

Thought not of modernly dull designs

They contemplated a timeless beauty

That revealed their reverence for the Divine.

And beauty…

When it is pure beauty sublime…

Stands… demands…

And passes the test of time.

Rocky mountains and vast oceans

Cheerful birds and ringed wise trees

Fruits of all colours and degrees of flavors

Loyal horses and honeybees…

They exist to glorify their Creator

By doing what they were always meant to do

What it means to finally catch the truth

Is to learn how to be true, to you.

His creation alone puts

In our chests

Instant feelings of humility, sincerity

And tranquil rest.

And sincerity…

When it is true sincerity… shines.

And it can stand

And pass, the test of time.

As for myself, I wonder

Will I pass the test of time?

Will who I am assemble to become a lasting poem

Or am I to be as insignificant as a silly rhyme?

Will my actions

And my words

Both the spoken

And unheard…

Will my thoughts

And my beliefs

Moments of joy,

Moments of grief…

Through and with them,

Will it end in cause of praise or condemn?

Will my minuscule deeds of goodness

Live on even when I am lifeless?

All these miracles and signs around us

Showing us what it means to pass

The test of a lifetime

If only I can always be aware

That I have yet to pass

Life’s test of mine.

Speeding Along

 

And Allah (God) knows Best.

-A.S.

But Then You Laughed

~ Dedicated to those who smile in the faces of others – those they know, and those they do not. Smiling is charity for the soul.

proud-rose

All these people

Who care primarily for an air of seriousness

Lest their light-heartedness be deemed heedlessness

They assuming my quiet nature expects formality

So formal are they I forget the sounds of gentle hilarity.

And so when I met you,

Surprised I had to be,

When you burst out laughing

At a joke I said half-heartedly.

All these people

Who care primarily for faces of solemnity

Lest their openly wild spirits be deemed social abnormality

They assuming my conservative nature requires they tread cautiously

So cautious are they that I forget the sounds of charming

awkwardness.

And so when I met you,

Pleasantly unsettled I had to be

When your eyes poured a river of kind laughter

Upon seeing my friendly smile immediately.

People can crack smiles,

Or make you smile,

But you,

You are nothing but smiles.

People can force a laugh,

Or make you laugh,

But you,

You are nothing but pure laughter.

People can feel joy,

Or bring you joy,

But you,

You are made of nothing but joy.

All these people,

Mundanely living to get by, with things to regret after

But when I met you,

You spared no time before filling my heart with laughter.

 

And God knows best.

Written on city bus, Nov.15/16, 9:03 PM.

-A.S.

Dis-attaching

~

I will peel it from my heart
Like a sticker from paper;
A sticker that has stayed on for far too long
And now runs the risk of ripping the substance it’s on.

Yet still, like an A+ sticker                                                                                                                            Mistakenly placed on a failing essay,                                                                                                           You, too, were never meant to be attached to,                                                                                          Much less in my life stay.

And so, I tell you thank you for all that you are
And inspired me to be
But I need to move on from you
To focus on realer things in my destiny.

So yes, I will peel you from my heart’s beat
Like a stubborn sticker from a delicate paper sheet
And though the ripping may hurt and sting
It will, at long last, give my heart new wings.

Flight

And God knows Best.

-A.S.

 

 

 

You Will Never Erase Me

by  Ismail Shammout

by Ismail Shammout

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

(un) Dear Zionists:

 

Isn’t it amazing that you hope

in fooling yourselves and others so easily

that you can

also

fool me?

As though I am unaware, or long ago stopped to care.

 

Isn’t it amazing that you think

by stealing my land,

my cuisine

and declaring tabboula

as  “Israeli salad”, it becomes your own?

As though I won’t recognize cultural appropriation when it is sown.

 

Isn’t it amazing that you insist

on calling the

occupied territories of Palestine

“Israel”?

Like it will erase the reality that

a Palestinian people were ever real.

 

Isn’t it amazing that you believe

by omitting maps of land theft in textbooks

it is as though you were never murderous crooks,

and that, by omitting genocidal facts in the education system,

you can pretend Palestinians wiped each other out,

out of barbaric desperation.

 

Isn’t it amazing that you think

in denying what you support,

what you’ve done,

what you’re doing,

criminalizing, abusing, and marginalizing me,

that you can strip away my heritage and identity?

 

No, zionism-infected minds

and a thousand times no!

You can ignore the truth of who you are,

although

at the cost of your dignity, integrity

and humanity. But…

 

you  will

never

ever

erase me.

 

Signed,

  • a Palestinian

The Type of Curiosity That Killed The Cat

Cat

It wasn’t mere curiosity that killed the cat

No matter how many people you’ve heard constantly quote that.

We’re told curiosity is good, the key,

I’m sure you must see

To the world of knowledge & facts,

Not to mention unleashing inner wisdom, to be tact

So why would it kill the cat?

Well.

Curiosity just for curiosity’s sake

Could more than you think be put on stake.

For example,

Do you want to study because you want to know the world

Or do you want to study so they’d call you a man who’s learned?

And do you want to know the world because you want to know God

Or do you want to know the world to be reason they are awed?

Curiosity killed the cat, they say

But I say curiosity without noble purpose ended its day.

For example,

Do you want to learn the secrets of her heart

Because of her life you wish to be a part

Or are you curious just to see

What’s really going on in her mind internally

With no intention of putting that knowledge to use

But simply to entertain your boredom, a temporary muse…

Oh,

My friend.

This could be the end.

Know that the type of curiosity that killed the cat

Was the kind that had no means but itself

And that

.

is the end

.

of that.

~

–A.S.

Bliss Amidst Chaos

Candle

Photo by Aya Salah

“We are the memory keepers and the trappers of time;

stealers of stolen glances and breathless lungs from all that have been taken away.

We are the noticers of subtle signs hidden in plain sight by a benevolent universe bigger than we’d ever believe.

We are the thieves of buried fears and the confidence left behind, left like jingling coins under sleeping pillows after first teeth have been carried off.

We are the leapers and the builders of wings on the fall of flying.

We are the distractionless wanderers and the destinationless travelers and we are the crumpled map that never got packed to join us.

We are the cinematic lovers and the translucent curtains saturated in light.

The soundtrack to the moments without sounds (…) We, says the last string pulled out,

the final string that kept it all together, balled up tight, filling us after all this time,

We, are the chasers of the light.”

(Tyler Gregson)