It is a rainy night,
with the dark clouds covering the moon.
The stars fall,
so do the rest of the unknown lights in the sky.
Rings of the distant churches’ bells heard.
Owls, bats, black vultures sound,
so do the hungry wolves around the lightless downtown.

A barefoot little girl,
with unironed clothes for weeks,
beside a bakery, sits.
Her long hair untied and wetted from rain.
She awaits for the dawn,
flipping through her simple wishes like a book,
under the lightening and the thunders.
But it needs hours and hours to arrive.

Families leave the theatre in front of her,
happy and smiling.
They just finished watching a humanitarian film.
Their cars’ lights reflect in her eyes full of tears,
which are not dried yet until the dawn appears.

Stores closed all around her.
Passersby look at her and deny.
Kids looking through the car windows,
ask their parents about her.
They, too, deny so their kids do not have nightmares while asleep.

The girl just awaits the dawn,
having few dreams, hopes and some pain.
She awaits the dawn,
hopefully, her dead parents appear, again!

Mohammed Arafat
06-04-2019

When I was a crawling child,
I was kicked out from my house,
made of mud and straw,
with my family,
during a war my country had.
I can’t remember it.
We had a lot!

I was a child,
but I watched it all.
I saw armed soldiers with heavy helmets,
carrying guns with woody handles.
I saw armored Personnel vehicles,
carrying more soldiers.
and boxes of weapons.
There were artilleries,
stationed miles away,
bombing my neighborhood,
randomly.

I saw blindfolded and handcuffed men from my town,
standing against a wall.
A young soldier with a hateful smile and deep piercing eyes faced them,
with his pistol.
Their blood splashed on the wall after few seconds.
My father and big brother were there too.

After few days,
I woke up in a tent,
donated by the good people.
Nothing was heard,
but the murmurs of the refugees,
gathered around a truck of bread and soup.

I was alone;
all alone,
at night,
considering the rest of my family lost.

I had none,
but the big white moon above me.
I stayed up talking to it.
and praying to God above it.

Mohammed Arafat
30-03-2019

Listening to Swan Lake of Tchaikovsky,
I tried to relax.
I was petting my calico cat,
with which I share my room.

Storming the Music,
news from the radio,
about the people of Gaza,
messed with my exhausted mind.
Dark holes swallowed my heart,
which beat so fast.

Rockets hither and thither.
Bombs awakening the sleep.
Kids crying and screaming.
Sleepless nights.
Women weeping.
Hospitals ready to receive injuries and dead.
Houses destroyed and collapsed.
Trees uprooted.
That was what the radio reported.

I did not look at photos or videos,
since I know they are the same.
I did nothing,
but raised my hands,
closed my eyes,
and opened my hearts full of holes.

I talked to myself and it believed what I said;
We fall,
but we rise again.
We fail,
but we succeed again.
We get attacked,
but we ask for peace.
We die,
but we live again and again.

Mohammed Arafat
27-03-2019

I was in a geography class,
in a country, my parents immigrated to years ago,
after a war waged,
in my city I never knew about.

My classmates came from the Far East,
and Africa.
Some came from Europe and America.
They were brown, black and white.
They were Muslims, Christians and Jews.
A few were documented,
while the rest weren’t.

My bald teacher was so good.
He was asked to leave his homeland,
after he opposed the government with his writings.
I thought he was so happy after coming here safely by boat,
but I later assumed he was so sad.
He got everything but not a life in his homeland.

We opened the book on a lesson,
called ‘the crises of the world’.
The teacher asked,
where are the crises?
I raised my hands and pointed at the map on the wall,
they are in the East and the West,
in the North and the South.
The crises are everywhere…

-Mohammed Arafat-
19-03-2019

They bid their parents the last farewell last week,
“They died from God,” they were told.
Not believing this,
they said, “good ones don’t die.”
That’s what they learnt in their 4 years of life.

A blond girl and a black-haired boy running,
not knowing where to go.
Their shirts aren’t being ironed for days,
and the pants worn out.
The long unwashed hairs are still flying though,
from the breeze of the windy winter.

They are running,
sometimes smiling,
sometimes crying,
sometimes flying,
like the scared birds above them.
Their screams heard.
They reach the tombs of their parents,
buried in the cemetery near the borders,
which is for the poor only.

Wither colorful roses planted,
by unknown,
on the graves.
No names written on the tombstones,
no death dates,
no verses from the Holy Quran,
no visitors,
and no prayers.

They raise their arms,
and try to pray.
They cannot pray,
because they aren’t taught to.
They just open their cold shattering hands,
look at the cloudy skies,
shed some innocent tears,
and move their shivering lips.

They spend hours there,
because they miss their parents,
which makes a gum-chewing ******,
with a metal helmet,
point his gun at them,
because they are “national threat.”

They run,
run,
and run.
They try to curse the ******,
but they don’t know bad words.
They curse him in their imaginations,
while running.

The girl’s life was the first be taken,
and then her brother.
They vanished,
not the two kids,
but two breezes,
blowing to heaven,
like two angels,
With long wings.
They now know their parents vanished,
by the same ******,
not by God.
because good ones do not die.

Mohammed Arafat
14-03-2019

They ask me about Palestine,
what we have there,
what we live for,
and why it’s so special?

I shake my head,
looking for the words to explain:
We have both the bad and the good.

We have an occupation to oppose,
and to end.
We have checkpoints restricting our movement,
armed soldiers ready to shoot.
Armless citizens
trying to avoid being shot
while protesting the decade-long siege.

We have fighting factions—
brothers, uncles and fathers—
who warn us to keep our mouths shut.
Jails and jailers waiting for us,
if we speak up.
We have users, abusers and losers.
Corruption and patronage.

Hate has invaded us,
but we still have love.

We have an endless, azure sea
that gives us at least an illusion of freedom.
Fields of the world’s brightest red strawberries
and ancient buildings whispering
about a history once noble and proud.
Close-knit families, with faces of children still hopeful and proud.

We have a beautiful capital with a golden dome
that lights with the sun when it appears from the east,
where worshippers gather from everywhere.
Friday’s call for prayers merge into Sunday’s church bells.
In the same capital, we have Muslims, Christians and Jews
who drink the same carob, eat the same hummus,
speak the same Arabic.
White, black and brown tourists come and go,
Smiling and buying from the elders of Jerusalem.
In it, we have mosques, churches and temples,
where those with righteous hearts
kneel to God at dawn and pray
that hate one day will end.

Mohammed Arafat
08-02-20

While the sun is setting,
I walk by the dazzling ocean,
thinking,
imagining,
talking to myself,
to the storms inside me,
to the volcanos and the quakes,
talking to my anger,
to my sorrow,
and to every feeling left in me.

It is the end of a new day,
a long one but very short,
full of drama and lies,
with no smiles from those around me.

I walk by the ocean,
while shedding tears,
trying to hide them from the passers-by.
I do not want kids to see them,
so they don’t think men cry.
I keep my dark glasses on.

I walk by the ocean,
not believing in promises,
suspecting the beautified words,
from the fake people.
I walk not believing in fake smiles,
fake laughs or even jokes.

The twighlight gleams and is gone now.
unsmiling people around me are gone too.
After diving down several times in front of me,
seagulls swirling above go to feed their babies,
happily!
They stop singing their daily songs.
Fishermen with dusty boats go homes sweating with joy.
Rich people turn on the lights of the silent yachts to start their night.
The high waves calm down.
The moon is waning crescent,
with a dimmed light.
They left me alone.
I am alone,
all alone,
but my only friend is my heart,
That they hurt.

Mohammed Arafat
26-02-2019