She lied there …
Motionless, but alive
On a rocky wooden bed- shackled with chains- her body was spread. A pool of blood formed between her legs. But she never fought back, never resisted or said “no!” Her eyes had no shine, dry like the the ceiling she gazed at it. A ceiling covered with chipping pieces of the dusty-century-old paint that sheltered the sky from witness
I knew she was alive. I felt her warmth. I felt her blood. I felt her pain. “Dead people can’t be felt,” I said under my breath. “I wish she died already,” Hazim whispered. “No, I wish I was dead before I saw her like this” he whispered again.
The bed kept rocking. the officer never stopped. I knew he enjoyed it; I would if I was the devil incarnated in a uniform. He slapped her, “you like it, huh?” “I know you love it! They all do. That’s right; an Arab is more deserving of you Palestinian whore than an Israeli!” Some said he was the fifth today, but Hisham counted four so far. Officers hauled us here for the fifth week now. Every day for few minutes, rifles are pointed to our heads. I watch because I don’t want to end in her place. I watch because they make me watch. I watch because I have to commit this to memory. For her sake and mine, I watch and pray for her to be the last. But she is not.
She is the seventh girl I see laying in that bed. I wonder how many men had to violate her before she fell into trance. More blood came gushing out as the officer arises. He grabs his gun from the floor, places his phallus behind the zipper of his camouflage pants. He moves toward us with yellow teeth peaking between his lips. “Would like to ride her?” he said to another officer. That’s when I was hit from the back. “C’mon, move. The episode is over.” said one officer “thank you for watching and see you next time” he continued. We rise to our feet dragging ourselves out of the room. Leaving her on that bed to be assaulted again but she never left our plagued conscience. I tremble on my way to the crammed cell. Angry and defeated, I curse myself for living until this day.
I fall & fall,
Then keep falling down …
Suspended in air, suspended in thought!
Suspended somewhere, but not here
In another realm, maybe
Sipping on few drops of reality,
That’s how I dream!
That’s how I fell
That’s how I fall
Then keep falling until falling evades life …
On replay, constant repetition
Lost between fact & fiction,
They became ..
Embodied in his warmth
Soft hands brush against mine,
I can’t hear his voice,
Only imaginary sounds ..
I hear a Z
Then an E
Or maybe it was an A?
I don’t know!
But I know that I fall
& keep falling ..
A comet I became,
Burning with love
& Burning myself into his atmosphere
& Maybe if I fall hard enough,
I might leave a dent somewhere
من الشقاء على شاكلته: جميل من جمال ميخا وتواضع حتى سمى في إنجيل
ها قد عدت لأتوج بملّكية نفسي من جديد
عدت وعاد معي قلبي
عدت وعدت أنا لنفسي; أتزين لي وأبتسم لي
عدت وأنهيت به أزمنة الإنتظار، فأنا هي وهي أنا لا فراق حتى نٌلف بالتراب
في يوم إستقلالي صنت حرمة دمعي
ورفعت راية سعادتي من جديد
حتى أحلامي تحررت من سطوه، وأي سطو إمتلك؟
على أعتاب ذكراه أقول: تصبح كل يوم وأنت في نسيان
In a sea of passion,
I will drown!
Sink to the bottom, fall into love
Flutter all the way down, shiver of glee!
On the palm of a wave, I come near
Of a light in lamp; a nonage of jasmine in spring time,
The sunshine of the soul ..
To whom I whisper in a moon night: I adore your essence and life!
And for that I pray to the lord of Heave: Oh ALLAH, increase in his love to me!
The innocence of life,
are murdered in plain sight,
forgotten among man as childhood ache in silence
in those eyes, I’ve see the faded tragedy of humanity!
The robbed of rights,
and a bleeding conscience that sores
the prisoners in a state of aggression
a repeated narration of demise
the sear of iron on the heart
and calls of misery that haunts
born from the womb of anguish,
to a bereaved mother called Palestine ..
A country of salt and moving sand
where blood is a pillar and a way of life
and a child orphaned before time
knows only grief in sight
yet, from a rock or pebble,
warriors of freedom are born,
from the killing fields, lies zones of death
in a country where nothing exist ..
freedom is a voiceless chant
that echoes on wings of doves
know to a revolutionist in cuffs,
living under the sun in patchy tents,
who warbles the truth through sanctity of his rights
with a laurel branch,
he will eradicate the trees of oppression
and emancipate liberty from dungeons of humiliation
reviving the spirits of justice within
to free the holly Mosque,
spread peace in land,
mend what bleeds of pain and defeat ..
and to free Palestine!
لـ ز ي ن ب نطق اللحن في حروفها ،
وألفاظها معنى لـ الجمال!
شأنها رفعةٌ بين المعاني في اللطف في الأوصاف ،
جمعت بين الحسن والجمال في السمة والمحيا
فـ الزخرف في السماء من زين الضياء ،
والروعة في النساء زينة وهبة من الله ،
والشجرة المباركة ذات عطر وأثمار!
حتى البر والإحسان ، كلها في موازين … ز ي ن ب