In The Diaspora Unable to Sing,I Want To Come To Thee
Beyond verdant hill
in Jordanian land
an old man in tatters
with hair like a stream frosed over in winter
and furrowed face like ploughed land left for long without rain
sat down
hand on a cane trembling but desperately teaming,
weeping silently on a rock;
remembering pearls of Palestine:
Yaffa, land of oranges,
where he used to lounge with friends
under a shady tree in summertime
and fly kites high over tops
when the wind in autumn blew
escorting old aged flesh of leaves from fig trees to public rugged roads
where donkey carts passing every day carrying loads,
women water pots on their heads
and kids wooden boards underarms
Galilee,land of the miracles,
where the Anointed fed five thousand mouths
with two fishes from its blessed sea
and stilled the tempest when the waves nearly covered the little vessel
Haifa,land of sweeping plains
and shaded lanes
still engraved in his mind
despite all the years that had been passed
One day he will visit with branch of olive tree
between lips
and hummingbirds hovering above
the place where he met his beloved,lovely angel
may God rest her soul in peace
Jerusalim,holy land,
city of Vergin ,
First Qiblah ,
Site of Night Journey and Ascension
Still exudes the prophet 's odor
and the sound of swords clashing decades
to liberate pigeons from Crusaders fists
Still echoing in the narrow streets of its ancient quarters.
where his relatives used to live
and walk upright with dignity and history
Now scattered
they are
pieces in the air
pieces on the ground
some in jails writing poems about freedom on the walls,
some in streets throwing stones,burning tyres
some in fields, stolen by rootless band,
working as slaves to feed hungry little mouths left behind
at the crack of the dawn.
His mouth now on the verge of openning but unable to sing.
Eyes full of the ocean but unable to close
and barricade floodgates.
Mind stacked and stuck in a rut but full of plans,
plans about the roads he has to take to return.
In bits,a bolt from the blue,he uttered;
Yaffa, my cherised home;
In the diaspora unable to sing;
I want to come to thee.
