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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Come Warrior

[Come Warrior]

Staring at the ceiling,
Hoping it would shift,
To show me there’s hope,
That these walls could crumble.

When does it end?
This Eternal  Pressure,
This pitch-black Night?
Send me a warrior, God,
Raising a sword,
Over a high-tailed stallion,
Reciting The Word,
To break my chains,
And set me free.

My internal will-to-freedom,
Is under siege,
By a powerful Hand I cannot see,
But feel … in my pocket,
Around my neck,
It’s there.. I now it!
Come warrior,
And sever that Hand,
Help me escape,
This Promised Land!

Arab Philosophy (Epistemology)

A boy stripped nude,
from his turban and gown.
Stood frozen in his place,
with a shivering frown.
__In silent humility,
__without voice or sound.

‘Tis the fate of chawing,
wads of razor and rule.
Cut tongue and bald head:
the blank slate of a fool.
__Paralyzed beyond hope,
__and ever-fed with a spoon.

Listen to the wisdom,
of Arabs in their youth.
‘Tis the sword, not the razor,
that defines the Truth.
__It slices through falsehood,
__without pity or ruth.(1)

And let not the Pen deceive,
An eager boy taught to “Read!”
‘Tis a wand that will cast,
a hunger you cannot feed.
__They serve but the Blade,
__The Master of the Reed.(2)

(1)
السيف أصدق أنباء من الكتب *** في حده الحد بين الجد واللعب (أبو تمام)

(2)
حتى رجعت وأقلامي قوائل لي *** المجد للسيف ليس المجد للقلم
أكتب بنا أبدا بعد الكتاب به *** فإنما نحن للأسياف كالخدم (المتنبي)ـ

Seed number One

The rules have changed my friend,
Yet once again.
But all is the same,
Since nothing escapes change.
Except for the One.

When young we were taught,
How the world should be.
Then we grew up,
And you taught us,
How the world indeed is.
Confused and disoriented,
We unlearned the tales of naivety
And lowered our heads,
So that you may ink our blank slates,
With your pen.

But the unexpected happened,
And we continued to grow.
And we learned how to take your words
Out of context,
And embed them in our own.

Behold! This is how a generation
seeds the “is” so that it may become!

This is how Christ blew life
Into a dead soul, on behalf of the One!

Behold! Nativity!

Tell me…
When scribbling on our slates,
Did you not know who pushed your hand?
That teaching with the Pen
Is the affair of the One?

Then accept the first seed:
Read!
That is lesson number One.

Drawings of a child

You used to write to express yourself,
Before learning that what you wrote,
Came true.
Now you write to draw your own Fate,
While I am sitting next to you.
Like a father watching his son,
His tears dripping,
Like prayer beads,
With cupped hands and a shivering heart,
Praising the One,
Pushing your-reed

Travel on

You have traveled long,
You have traveled far,
Too many prints to wipe out…

So look ahead little one,
Wipe your tears, and travel on.
If you journey long enough,
You shall one day reach,
Where you once belonged.