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Mohammed Arafat May 2021
Tomorrow is the end of Ramadan
and then comes Eid
(Festival of Breaking the Fast)
In Gaza, it’s unusual, though
Tomorrow might bring an ache
to a weeping mom’s heart
crying over her child
Tomorrow, more leaves,
might fall
They fall
like they are falling in love
with Gaza's land.

Mohammed Arafat
05-11-2021
Apr 2021 · 95
Compassionate
Mohammed Arafat Apr 2021
O, “compassionate” ones.
Impatiently,
they still cling to life,
even though it’s wretched.
Their daydreams are lost, but,
from desperation spring new hopes.
I am talking about your people,
who are still waiting for a hope,
from you, from every one of you,
so they can keep clinging to life.

Mohammed Arafat
04-19-2021
Mar 2021 · 62
Me
Mohammed Arafat Mar 2021
Me
It’s not over,
if I choose myself,
over the noise of life.
I am what I need,
when I drown,
in my thoughts,
and when it’s dark. 

Mohammed Arafat
March 12th, 2021
Mar 2021 · 59
Me
Mohammed Arafat Mar 2021
Me
It’s not over,
if I choose myself,
over the noise of life.
I am what I need,
when I drown,
in my thoughts,
and when it’s dark. 

Mohammed Arafat
Dec 2020 · 103
Inexplicableness
Mohammed Arafat Dec 2020
I wonder if my heart dropped or fluttered.
All I know was that,
it was filled with inexplicableness.
I ended up accepting it.
After some days,
you gave me a full-blown flower,
but I never learnt about,
its sharpened thorns,
until they pricked my heart...

Mohammed Arafat
11-30-2020
Nov 2020 · 67
It’s 12 AM
Mohammed Arafat Nov 2020
Tick tock.
It’s midnight.
From East to West,
everyone is sleeping,
but me.
It’s dark everywhere.
Owls are no longer hooting.
I can’t hit the mattress,
not because it’s fall,
not because it’s cold,
but because I miss her,
the one poetry should,
be written for.
I miss my first love.
I miss my mom!

Mohammed Arafat
November 14, 202
Nov 2020 · 67
When it Happened
Mohammed Arafat Nov 2020
On this breezy evening,
fall leaves swish.
Stars twinkle in the skies,
behind puffy clouds,
with no full moon around.

I now remember the night time,
when it all happened,
years ago.
Black and grey was what I felt.
I can’t forget how it started,
and how it ended.

I remember the anguish and pain,
the only emotions that remain,
and every detail of that moment.

At this time every year,
I look at the skies and say,
“It won’t happen again.”
“It won’t happen again.”

Mohammed Arafat
November 9th, 2020
Oct 2020 · 290
Caged
Mohammed Arafat Oct 2020
The caged bird,
can seldom see through,
the bars of the cage,
in darkness.
He has clipped wings.
He has tied feet.
He has empty stomach and plate,
but he can sing.   

He sings with fear.
He sings with agony,
but he sings love songs.
He thinks he is heard.
He is not!

Mohammed Arafat
10-13-2020
No caption needed as this poem talks about a lot of what we see every single day in our lives.
Oct 2020 · 196
I will Rise
Mohammed Arafat Oct 2020
You may try to put me down,
With your twisted plots and lies.
You’ve got war history; I’ve got faith.
I hear your mocks; you hear my cries.
I look at you with my heart;
You look at me with your eyes.
Whatever you do, whatever you say,
Don’t think it’s a surprise.
Well, I am telling you this once:
Like dust, I will rise, I will rise.

09-30-2020
Mohammed Arafat
Many entities try to put the Palestinians of Gaza, wherever they are, down, and they keep rising.
Sep 2020 · 66
Oh Palestine
Mohammed Arafat Sep 2020
Oh Palestine,
I look at your spacious skies
above the blue waves of the sea
that I see with my wide-open eyes.
How God shed his love on thee.

Mohammed S Arafat
09-15-2020
Mohammed Arafat Aug 2020
I tell my God stories

and pray my thoughts out

during the day

and the silence of the night.

“Why is Gaza suffering?”

I whisper to God.

I am heard

and await a response.

Mohammed Arafat
08-26-2020
A crisis after another hits Gaza and its people! Corona Virus hit the strip yesterday and the number of cases is getting higher and higher.
Aug 2020 · 69
A Song for My Land
Mohammed Arafat Aug 2020
A Song for My Land

I am neither a singer nor a rapper,
but loving my land makes me sing.

I sing to my far land,
in which my dreams grew.
I sing to the land that gave me patience,
that gave me bravery,
that planted love into me,
which became high green trees,
reaching the skies of other hearts.

I sing to the land where love lives,
with hate trying to replace it.

I sing to my land,
that I long night after night,
song after song,
curse after curse,
tear after tear,
nightmare after another.

I sing to my land,
where I lost friends and family,
where good people die, not of hunger,
but of oppression,
where good and bad exist,
where easy gets complex,
where stories are narrated by silence,
voices are heard from dead,
and decisions are made by foolish.

I sing to my land,
where infants are born political,
and their worrying about their futures becomes their toys.

I sing to the land,
where brains are washed with fear,
where farms are separated with walls,
where people split with destruction,
where hearts divided with revenge.

I will still sing to Palestine,
for what it gave me,
and for what it took from me!

Mohammed S Arafat
08-14-2020
Jul 2020 · 222
God’s Gift
Mohammed Arafat Jul 2020
I call your name,
O God’s Gift,
For thee, this is penned.
With indelible ink, on a papyrus paper,
I start these lines.
-Floods of emotions are rocking my heart-
With whys and question marks, I end these lines!
 
Mohammed Arafat
23-07-2020
Jul 2020 · 73
Her
Mohammed Arafat Jul 2020
Her
O humans,
I would have loved to
tell you about this pain,

I would have loved to
tell you about it
and talk it out,
had I known talking would help.

I am wrapping myself up in this flag, though.
I am wrapping myself up in this flag!

22-07-2020

Mohammed Arafat
This poem is about a girl who graduated from high school this year and she lost her dad before graduation
Jul 2020 · 302
Inner Battles
Mohammed Arafat Jul 2020
Dim room.
A small window with a blank curtain
emitting no light.
The ceiling fan is spinning.
No sound is heard.
A French fry container is open
on the floor beside a Washington Post paper
and a big coffee mug, that has no coffee.
An unmoving body has crashed out on a thin mattress.
The smoke from a cigarette between two of his fingers fills the room.
His hand is hesitant to grab the last fry.
It’s probably cold and dry.
It looks delicious
but it won’t taste delicious.
He seems in no mood to eat
after yesterday’s junk food dinner
that he had with his thoughts.
His head is on the pillow that he holds whenever the inner battles begin.
I ask him, “what battles?”
“Of finding a place to call home, of finding a place to call home!” His eyes fill with tears, and he breaks the silence.

Mohammed S Arafat
July 15th, 2020
This poem is dedicated to the refugees of Palestine, Yemen, Syria, Afghanistan and many other war-torn countries, who are still looking for a home.
Jul 2020 · 433
I See You
Mohammed Arafat Jul 2020
Lady, I am staring into your eyes,
in front of everyone.
I see your beauty covered with your sorrow.
I see the real you throughout the words they say.
I see the blooming Jasmin behind your bitter cactus.

Whether they like it or not, I will touch you,
I will touch you and touch you with my mind,
until you get out of the cave of your pain,
and smile to me before them all!

Mohammed Arafat
I fell in love with a girl whose name is the name of the most beautiful shrub that has white flowers with a yummy smell. This poem is dedicated to her.
Jun 2020 · 63
Short Speech
Mohammed Arafat Jun 2020
I look around me
and this is what I see:
Relentless battles
Fighters not knowing why they are asked to fight
and their leaders engage with no purpose
Borders separating people’s lands
and checkpoints confiscating their freedom

I look around me
and this is what I see:
Racists and hate
for colour, religion and race
Why don’t they embrace?

I look around me
and I hear a victim talking:
You whom cannot hear me.
I have been talking
for lunar and solar years
My voice is hoarse
No response is offered
I am no different
and I don’t want to be.
Will you hear me?

I look at my Palestinian self,
and I feel it all!

Mohammed Arafat
09-06-2020
May 2020 · 78
I Left for the Unknown
Mohammed Arafat May 2020
Terror fell upon my sleeping kids

on a May spring night

supposed to be full of joy.

They ran toward me with fright.

I opened my arms to them

in our small house

made out of compact mud and straw.

It fell while I was grabbing my three kids

with strength, weakness and fear.


Like them, with them, I ran

but toward no one

I ran toward the unknown

from a village to another

chased by guns and cannons

from every mountain and hill.


I saw nothing but fire everywhere.

Shrieks and cries broke the silence.

Fire reflected on the vacant faces

of those who had left their properties.


I walked days and nights

through the dry lands

soaked by rains of spring

not knowing where to go.


I left my everything

-myself-

over there

and became displaced.

I still live in the unknown

waiting for my case to be resolved.


Mohammed Arafat

15-05-2020
My grandfather was not a refugee like the 1.3 million Palestinian refugees living in Gaza, which is home to a population of approximately 2 million people. He was a farmer, who worked in cities like Haifa and Aka before inheriting his own farm in Gaza from his parents. Aaccording to him, not being able to go back to work in Haifa and Aka like before, however, made him feel like he was a refugee. This turned him into a completely different person. He fell in love with his farm in Gaza and used to spend more than 50 hours per week on that piece of green land.

It was his refuge for most his life. He made his Arabic salad there, using the tomatoes, onions, and peppers he planted. Green and sour grapes were an option when he didn’t have salt. The olive oil gave his salad a unique taste that I can’t describe in words. My father begged him not to drink the unfiltered water at the farm, but he couldn't be convinced, as he loved everything that came from his land. He once described his farm’s unfiltered water as real and  the filtered as fake.

The shade from the high olive trees that had been planted on his farm hundreds of years ago was his cover from the sun in the summer, and their dark green leaves were an umbrella for him in the winter. Citruses were his fruits, and the huge, local eggplant and cucumber were his vegetables.

I once questioned how he had shaved his beard before his death. I found out later that he had his own, little place for shaving on his farm. He hid a blade, a piece of soap, and a broken mirror behind a rock beside the farm's back fence.

The tough man with green eyes and gray hair, who walked an hour to his farm with a walking stick every day at dawn, was my grandfather. I guarantee he loved his farm more than anything else—not because it’s where he spent his time, but because land means life.

I am not exaggerating when I say that he died from sorrow over the 2012-2013 bombing of his Gaza farm.
May 2020 · 218
You, again, Appear
Mohammed Arafat May 2020
When none is around me

I find only myself closer.

Silence, silence and then

our memories together appear

like a good-looking ghost

which I hear about in folklore.

It reminds me of the moments

that I can’t forget.

No worries, good memories

The ghost tells me not to weep

because time will not bring relief

after you are deceased.

It’s a big lie!



Mohammed Arafat
11-05-2020
I wrote this poem to mourn the death of my grandmother who we painfully lost her on May 7th, 2020
May 2020 · 129
Thousands of Moments
Mohammed Arafat May 2020
(A poem dedicated to my mother)

It was weirdly warm

the night I was born

Was it the shriek of my mother?

or it was the hot weather?


She was as young as I am now

talking to me despite the thou-

sands of moments of her pain

she couldn’t easily contain


The only little thing I did,

was babbling while in bed

She understood me though

but I will never know

the agony she went through

to make me the way I grew


You cared for me every single day

and for you, I will always pray

My own mother, I left you not so early,

You are the one I love so dearly.

Mohammed S Arafat

05-01-2020
A poem dedicated to my mom
Apr 2020 · 72
Where Is My Refuge?
Mohammed Arafat Apr 2020
I look here, I look there

trying to compare

between two places

One once was a home

and the other refuses to be one.

One is surrounded by visible and invisible high walls

and many brutalities.

The other isolates me with strict laws and policies.

Every night, I sleep hoping for a morning with a refuge.

During my sleep, sweet dreams cross my mind,

but they are faced with ugly nightmares.  

It’s complex.

I wake up from my nightmares,

and the two places are the same.

One is isolated,

and the other isolates me,

I try to find my refuge though.



Mohammed Arafat

14-04-2020
Refugees problem is getting worse, even amid the current pandemic! Everyone of them has a story to tell, whether a story about losing a child, being forced to leave a house or even leaving the whole country without any hops of coming back. This poem talks about one of these stories many of refugees suffer from.
Apr 2020 · 75
A Question Mark
Mohammed Arafat Apr 2020
I get myself together
not knowing how to react
I look around
Everyone is wondering
carrying the same heavy feeling
the same handful of hope
the last piece of hope
“Why did you come into our little world?”
I asked with an obvious question mark
waiting for an answer…

Mohammed Arafat
12-04-2020
Apr 2020 · 158
I Still Sing for My Land
Mohammed Arafat Apr 2020
Away from the brown soil where I was born,
away from the red strawberries and the yellow corn,
away from the grave of my grandfather who taught me farming,
and away from my family-jammed home with no backyard or swing,
I sing of my far land,
in which my dreams grew,
with no end.
I sing for the land that gave me patience,
that gave me bravery,
that planted love in me,
which became high green trees,
reaching the skies of other hearts,
I sing for the land where love lives,
with hate trying to replace it.

I still sing of my land,
for which I long night after night
song after song,
curse after curse,
tear after tear,
nightmare after another.

I still sing of my land,
where I lost friends and family,
where good people die, not of hunger,
but of oppression,
where good and bad exist,
where easy gets complex,
where stories are narrated by silence,
voices are heard from the dead,
and decisions are made by the foolish.
I still sing for it,
where infants are born political,
and their worrying about their rights becomes their toys.

I sing of the land, where brains are washed with fear and hate,
where farms are separated with walls,
where people are split by destruction,
where rubble shelter children,
where hearts are divided by revenge.

I will still sing for my land,
for what it gives me,
and for what it takes from me…

Mohammed Arafat
09-04-2020
I was talking to someone dear to my heart, and we both shared photos of passports. The name of my country (Palestine) on the Passover  reminded me of how much I love my homeland. My  love to my land no matter how much it gives me and how much it takes from me
Apr 2020 · 416
Salam
Mohammed Arafat Apr 2020
Salam...
Since years and years,
they talked Salam.
I see no Salam.
What is Salam?
I don’t know how to say Salam.
Salam!

Mohammed S Arafat
04-04-2020
Peace means Salam in Arabic. This poem is for those who have been talking about Salam and never made it happen.
Mar 2020 · 154
Visiting My Dreams
Mohammed Arafat Mar 2020
I am going out to pay my dreams a visit
It will be short, upping my thumb
They tell me words and I tell them some
I shan’t be late, you too come?

Arguments will happen and begin
They or I might sulk
At the end of today
I want them to win
not over me, but over their fellows.

Mohammed S Arafat
28-03-2020
Mar 2020 · 439
When Coronavirus Spoke
Mohammed Arafat Mar 2020
Mirror hung on my wall
I am staring at you
A conversation starts
between us two

You:
Ununited the world is
You have hate to one another
Rage sneaks into your lives
to your nerves and blood
They love you when they need you
They leave you when you need them

The strong prey on the weak
The rich steal the poor
You have no right to speak
Patronage plays the role

Families divided
Decisions decided
Bad presided
You misguided

I come for a reason
to make you thankful
to stop the treason
and believe in handful

Me:
You came to teach us
but with a big fuss
Our families are pretty ill
Please, teach, but don’t ****!

Mohammed Arafat
25-03-2020
Every new day comes while we are still quarantined at our houses and away from our friends and beloved ones, the Coronavirus shocks us with new surprises. Today, it inspired me to write this poem.
Mohammed Arafat Mar 2020
I walk for miles to reach the pink trees 
In a hurry, I rush, hurt my knees 
Under the strong sun, the cloudless sky 
I try to find place of shade and breeze 
 
In the place I woo, no wind. It is dry 
The sun still strong, it is warm and high 
I see no people but some buds of cherry 
It was never like this. It is a lie 
 
I am under the cherry, it is not ordinary 
Beautiful, stunning, pretty and extraordinary 
I stare out at the new colorful blossoms 
Praying for the return of the real imaginary

Mohammed Arafat
23-03-2020
I have been waiting to visit the cherry blossoms in Washington DC since last year. The time comes now but sadly, it’s different and the scene is really sad. This inspired me to write this poem.
Mar 2020 · 444
Besieged Twice
Mohammed Arafat Mar 2020
Besieged Twice
Curfew
from eight to six
Crowds avoided
Gatherings faded
Restaurants closed
Hookah bars emptied
No meeting with my friends
No dating my crush
I am losing them
It’s unusual
I look at the sky
It’s blue and shiny
I don’t see warplanes
I see no tanks, no bulldozers on the borders
No soldiers with army uniforms.
What’s going on, then?
Once again, I realize I am besieged
By no humans
By no soldiers
But by a pandemic
that picks preys
and steals their lives!

Mohammed Arafat
I lived in Gaza most of my life, where I witnessed a siege by Israeli occupation. Now I moved to the US, things here look like having a siege, not by humans but by a virus.
Mar 2020 · 235
--What Is The Matter?—
Mohammed Arafat Mar 2020
I am awake
It was a long deep sleep
I try to open my eyes to see the world
Hopefully a change.
Curtains up
Window closed
(Inhaling)
(Exhaling)
I barely can breathe
My chest is tight
Heaviness?
Anxiety?
I don’t know!

Through the window
the sky is glorious and cerulean
The sun looks at me beside the rainbow
But it does not smile like before!
Wondering why.
Where are the birds?
Where is their early-morning songs?
They used to fight over partners on that high tree.
They no longer fall in love?
They used to travel deep into that forest to feed their kids.
They no longer make love?

Our crowded street is empty
No stray dogs barking and chasing cats
No cats hunting mice
No mice climbing in trash
No trash in front of houses at most

A ghost town?
A haunted neighbourhood?
What is the matter?

I am shackled in here
In silence
In quietness
No noises like before
but the sound of silence
No little fights between siblings
No calls from my mother for breakfast

No.. no.. no..

I wake up from my sleep!
It was just a nightmare
Fortunately, I am alive with no Corona
The house is not silent
The neighbourhood is not haunted
Nothing is the matter

Mohammed Arafat
07-03-2020
Coronavirus became a nightmare to many people. In this peom, I describe how most of people feel when they hear about this virus. I pray for healthy lives to those infected.
Mar 2020 · 159
We Are The Majority
Mohammed Arafat Mar 2020
We Are The Majority

With hopes to be leaders
our mothers gave birth to us
not at the same time
We aren’t with the same age
but from the same generation
the 90s.

We do politics and fight
We cook Shakshuka at night
We study with no light
We do everything
but not the elections right


It’s their first and last call
They try every spring and fall
to create an elections hope
but it’s a high high wall

They are seated well
They smoke and chill
and sleep in a hotel
If we talk
we are sentenced to hell!

Is it our fault?
We are the majority
Please listen and halt
We need clarity

Mohammed Arafat
03-03-2020
Mohammed Arafat Mar 2020
I am from a place,
where violence takes place,
by outsiders and insiders.
I oppose horror
terror,
melancholy,
and every fear chasing me.
I barely can, though.

In my thoughts, however,
I flee the darkness,
the hate and the arrogance.
I run off the imposed siege along with my tears,
with my good and bad memories,
with my stolen childhood,
and my ruined adulthood,
with my beating heart full of holes.

Into the farthest city, I want to descend,
like a prophet, an angel or a human.
I just want to descend anyways,
into Jerusalem, the city of peace,
and righteous.

I walk through the lanes of its old town,
among the stalls of its old markets,
built of limestone.

With my wide-open eyes,
I mediate the high woody gates,
closed for hundreds of years,
I stare at its historic walls,
several armies from different times,
tied their mares to, across old ages.

I gape at the Holy Sepulcher Church,
the Omar Mosque located behind it,
and the mounts beside.
I sense the worshipers all around,                                                                                        Muslims, Jews, Christians
praying and thanking God,
for the peace, he gives them, daily.

I get into the deep alleyways,
full of people with and without Kofeyyas.
I look at the golden Dome of the Rock,
and the Al-Aqsa Mosque,
from outside, insanely.

I take off my plastic slippers at the entrance,
after checking all details around with my five senses.
Getting ready to pray too, I enter the holy mosque.
I raise my hands,
kneel,
and pray,
for peace and for love,
in Jerusalem,
and around Jerusalem.

Mohammed Arafat

03-03-2020
Feb 2020 · 300
Born In War
Mohammed Arafat Feb 2020
She is supposed to get to live to enjoy life
Her birth is in war
with no baby clothing available
but a blanket and a pillow

Her mother screams
higher than loud booms around
higher than the voices of politicians
It hurts to give birth during wars

She is in a tent
donated by good people
who don’t believe in war
but in love

Her little world is a war
The skies are dark and grey
and a lot stands in her way
not only this war

She joins her mother’s cries
wrapped with the grey blanket
Cries of rockets heard as well
emigrants from other tents cry too

Fear breaks into her tent
Smoke coming out of the tent
mixed with cries, screams, and wails
The tent shakes
The tent collapses

Her mattress is rubbles
Her blanket is ash
Her cries gone in vain
Just like humanity
Silence!
Many babies don't expect to come to this life to start it in war, but they do.
Jan 2020 · 105
Breeze Takes Him Away
Mohammed Arafat Jan 2020
It’s 4 am
No sun yet
He doesn’t want to wake up
Now sing the birds
They flap outside
chasing one another
trying to wake him up
But nobody cares
Now street trees murmur
and wind blows
into them
shaking their thick stems and wither leaves
trying not to distress his sleep
Breeze comes in from the cracked window.
above his head
He wants to wake up
to see the birds
to listen to the rustling of leaves
to feel the wind
but he can’t anyway
Breeze talks to him
gently talks to him
and it takes him away
“God bless your soul, Grandfather.” I pray, shedding tears.

Mohammed Arafat
January 26th, 2020
In loving memory of my grandfather.
Jan 2020 · 93
Under the Crescent
Mohammed Arafat Jan 2020
I am walking under the crescent,
thinking about the past and the present.
My hands in my pockets,
of my winter coat.
It’s cold,
so am I,
inside the warm coat.
Different shadows appear and fade,
all around me.
in my right,
in my left,
in front of me,
and behind me.
They come and go.
I think someone is trailing me,
from behind,
Or even above.
No one is around, I look.
It’s just my shadow.
I realize everyone leaves but not the shadows.

Mohammed Arafat
22-02-2020
Dec 2019 · 80
Tell Me You are by Me
Mohammed Arafat Dec 2019
When it gets impossible and hard
when it becomes out of the way
and unlikely to happen
tell me you are by me

When I try hard and try
but I fail with no passion
and my hopes, like me, die
tell me you are by me

When I have none but you
your love, miracles, calmness
when I believe all you say is true
tell me you are by me

When I look at the skies
they are dimmed and grey
when I see nothing but lies
tell me you are by me

When I watch the high trees
in the deep woods
finding no green, no breeze
tell me you are by me

When I try to listen to birds
but no birds to sing
but owls to grieve with no words
tell me you are by me.

When I feel depressed and alone
with a fluttering heart
when I moan and groan
tell me you are by me

When my eyes filled with tears
and they drop on my cheeks
when my heart filled with fears
tell me you are by me.

When I kneel at your door
After your heaven and throne
with tears on the floor
tell me you are by me.
God, tell me you are by me.

Mohammed Arafat
29-12-2019
When things get complicated with us, we talk to ourselves trying to make God hear us as much as we can, so we, submissively, kneel to him asking him to be with us.
Mohammed Arafat Dec 2019
The main street whitened.

It’s snowing outside,

in this moonless evening.

Squirrels look out their burrows.

Owls try to find shelters on top of the high leafless trees.




Across the Street, walks a homeless boy,

trembling...

trying to cover himself with his arms.

No family, no house, no toy.

Walking barefoot into suburbs,

is his thing.

Nothing left but his memories.

Nothing left but his nightmares.

Nothing left but his fear.




He walks on the wet asphalt,

and the cold mud.




He looks into windows,

finding a different world;

babies cradled,

others put to sleep,

kids fed,

while playing together,

behind the closed doors,

happily, around their parents,

and around the dining set.

The smells,

of winter dishes spread.

Inciting his appetite.







He lost his family,

Because of, either, devastating wars,

or unfair starvation,

either after reaching the shore,

or before asking for immigration.




Mohammed Arafat

27-12-2019
No matter the degree of happiness we reach, homeless kids should be remembered.
Dec 2019 · 71
They Travel with the Sun
Mohammed Arafat Dec 2019
It’s dimmed outside.
Sun is leaving us for so long.
Heavy Clouds approach.
Skies cry dew at the dawn.
and rain at the twilight.

Trees lose their green leaves day after day,
just like a child losing thier family.
No more green or yellow leaves on trees.
Birds halt building nests,
as they travel with the sun,
taking their chicks with them,
to look for new home, new food.

Lovers see each other not much,
as parks closed and roses wilt.
Harbors blocked and waves get high.
Golden shores wetted, green hills yellowed.
No places for love.
They decide to travel with the sun.
Everything beautiful travels with the sun.
Everything beautiful travels with the sun.



Mohammed Arafat

05-12-2019
Melancholic Fall
Dec 2019 · 111
I Stand by the Window
Mohammed Arafat Dec 2019
I open the window at midnight,
and stand by it,
to beautify my eyes,
looking at Gaza city.

The sky is clear.
The moon is crescent.
It’s breezing from the sea.
The tops of the palm trees dancing,
under the lights of the flying stars,
and the falling meteors and comets.
I can smell the oil of the olive trees in the East.
I can taste the citrus fruits of the West while far.
It seems this city won the satisfaction of God.

I am watching the light go on and off,
in the small buildings,
across the street.
Some families get lights.
Others get darkness while there is light.

I try to look through the windows,
but it’s not easy.
Some of them are opaque though.

In one of the buildings lives a big family,
spending the night waiting for the morning,
and its unexpected surprises.
In another building lives a young man,
chatting with his fiancée,
about their wedding delayed for five years.

Three orphans live in a makeshift home, made of tin plates.
Weeping, they can’t believe they lost their parents just recently.
Beside their home, widowed woman resides.
She thinks she could bring her husband back.

On the second floor, there is a girl,
waiting for her lover to come.
He promised to marry her years ago,
but he turned up missing while trying to migrate.
Her mother awaits her son,
to come back from the café,
where he hookahs and smokes for hours.

In another building stays four graduates,
sitting in front of big screens,
applying for jobs,
Knowing they won’t get any.

On top of them, lives an artist,
criticizing his careless government,
and cursing the occupation on social media,
waiting to be arrested and humiliated soon.
In Gaza, live humans.

Mohammed S Arafat
December 2nd, 2019
Gaza people love life, and after all they are humans.
Nov 2019 · 362
Leaves Fall
Mohammed Arafat Nov 2019
It’s dimmed outside.
Birds come back to nets with empty corps,
but with a lot of warmth and compassion.
Their hatchlings and fledglings will sleep hungry tonight.
I can hear their birdsongs though.
Strong wind blows,
across the yard,
and all around the cosy nests.
High deciduous trees rustle,
shuddering me.
Withered dry leaves fall,
reminding me of those humans falling every day,
without saying goodbye to their final autumn,
in my homeland,
in Palestine.

Mohammed Arafat
Nobember 20th, 2019
Sometimes the only thing you can do for your people suffering every day is writing a poem.
Nov 2019 · 130
Warmth
Mohammed Arafat Nov 2019
Rain is over,
but I see raindrops all over the window,
while I am wrapped with three blankets,
and the fourth folded beside me.
It’s getting colder,
and I am getting warmer.
From the window,
I see neighbors having a campfire,
in their backyard,
With their kids around them.
I am warm, they are warm,
but thousands out there are not.
I am thinking of them all…
I am thinking of them all…
While you are in your bed covered with blankets and love, don't forget that there are thousands who aren't.
Nov 2019 · 78
I am Let Go
Mohammed Arafat Nov 2019
--I am Let Go--




“Goodbye, my mom…”
I kiss her hands and leave,
the house of my parents,
in my village, chained…
chained with high walls,
electric siege,
armed soldiers,
and hate.

While walking, with a bag full of food in my right hand,
and my green Palestinian ID in my left,
I am remembering my goodbye to my mom.
I didn’t say, “See you soon, mom!”
but goodbye.
I don’t know why!

The street is dark,
with the moon lurking behind the clouds.
It’s cold in November.
My cold hands shaking.
Neither the bag nor the ID helps warming them up.

I approach the high wall and the border we always talk about,
in our winter meetings around campfires.
It’s full of military watchtowers,
with welded wire fence,
and snipers pointing their guns at me.

My ID is ready in my hand to show,
and my bag is open for them to be searched.
The inspection is over, and I am let go.
They laugh at me while I walk.

No safety yet.
About to cross the border,
I again remember my goodbye to my mom.

Remembering stops.
My back feels cold.
It’s frozen.
It’s warm.
It hurts.
I am screaming.
I am shot by the soldiers checked my bag and my ID,
by the soldiers who let me go.

Mohammed Arafat
November 2nd, 2019
Palestine
Nov 2019 · 66
In Autumn
Mohammed Arafat Nov 2019
Green leaves wilt,
and turn yellow and orange,
filling the ground of my parents’ backyard,
with brown color.
No swinging, no tree climbings, no frolicking,
but warmth in sobs with my family.
We bring up our old memories,
the sweet and the bitter,
the memories of every autumn,
I lived in my old town in Gaza.

With love, we flip them like reading a dusty book,
in front of the campfire.
while yellow and orange leaves still fall outside,
filling the ground with brown color.

It’s windy outside and cold.
Reptiles get into their burrows.
Birds, in a hurry, fly to their nests,
full of either babies or eggs about to hatch,
and we are still remembering our old memories.
We fall asleep in front of fire in autumn,
dreaming...

Mohammed S Arafat
October 30th, 2019
Sep 2019 · 446
Life Is Fair?
Mohammed Arafat Sep 2019
They say, ‘life is simple and fair’,
‘it’s based on equity and justice’,
but people don’t have any care,
going by it’s all about ‘just us’.

We elect humans and call them leaders,
to help us, bless us, and pilot the ship.
After years though, we are the bleeders.
They steal, lie, trade and badly rip.

When, verbally, we oppose them,
like innocent angels, they become,
and we, the opposers, they blame and condemn,
after, from hate, they show us some.

It’s not only about the leaders’ corruption.
It’s also about those killing us without disruption.
It’s about those murdering our girls and boys.
It’s about those shooting to death without noise.

When we come to criticism,
they simply call it anti-racism.
When we come to dispute,
they are set ready to shoot.

Well, they keep saying, ‘life is fair’,
but again I say, ‘it is not, Sir!’.
‘Life is not just,’
‘so we need to adjust!’

Mohammed Arafat
September 19th, 2019
When I see and feel how unfair life is for those people who have no voice or strength to speak up, I can do nothing about it but to let my pen be my fighter and theirs.
Sep 2019 · 297
Can’t Curse Out Loud
Mohammed Arafat Sep 2019
Sitting on my bed,

with a red apple with my hand,

while looking at a map in front of me,

I am eager to eat my fruit,

but that map takes my attention.

The map of Palestine!



I gape at it,

for seconds.

My eyes are watering,

My heart is melting.

My hands are trembling,

My forehead is sweating.



I see Gaza isolated,

Jerusalem separated,

the west bank eliminated,

chaos created,

the case complicated.



I cannot speak up,

or write up,

for reasons we know.

The only way to criticise or to oppose though,

is through my mind.



In my mind,

I curse the occupation,

its oppression,

nd its crimes.

I curse our kaleidoscopic political parties,

their hypocrisy,

and their lies.



Mohammed Arafat

06-09-2019
I wrote this poem to reflect on how I feel towards not being able to speak up for the rights of my people
Mohammed Arafat Aug 2019
From a tent to another, I move.
It’s raining,
and sometimes, snowing.
It doesn’t matter how cold it is,
because I am cold.
I have only one blanket,
when I sleep,
one sweaters,
when I move from a tent to another,
under rain,
and sometimes snow.

Wait! I am day-dreaming.
I don’t live in a tent anymore.
I live in a makeshift home.
I have more blankets.
I have more sweaters.
My life is better,
but I still feel cold.

I look out from the dusty window,
that looks like those in jails,
in my room I share with my brother.
It’s sunny outside!
It’s hot!
but why am I cold?

I am still looking outside from the same window.
More makeshift houses appear,
all around,
“Our refugees’ rights?”
written in Arabic, I read on the walls around.
By then, I realized I am still called a refuge.

I saw people marching,
holding banners,
asking for human rights,
holding Palestinian flags,
and wearing the Kofeya.
I realized I am still a refuge.
I see people,
forced to leave their homeland,
to another,
where they live with no rights,
to have jobs,
to build houses.

I see kids,
looking at the protesters,
not knowing what they are looking at,
but I know they realize that,
they are still refugees,
in a neighbouring country,
oppressed and cold.

Mohammed Arafat
03-08-2019
When streets in Palestinian refugees camps around Palestine are filled with loud voices in recent days, it's not celebration but protests, bearing the message "Enough, we want dignity".
Jul 2019 · 296
Reminding...
Mohammed Arafat Jul 2019
Reminding...

I am in the bus.
It’s crowded, and dark,
while on the highway.
I need to breathe,
to move,
to talk,
but I can’t,
reminding me of my days,
in the past,
in Gaza,
where I was in a dark room,
jammed with my seven siblings,
and my parents, that I missed.
Silent,
listening to shellings,
in that dawn,
on Sunday.
everywhere, outside my family’s home.
In my thoughts, silently, I prayed,
for our safety.

Wave of heating invades the bus,
and there is no air-conditioning.
Passengers’ breaths heat it more,
and more,
reminding me of my summer,
of my beautiful city,
of Gaza.
It was so hot,
with no access to electricity,
only for three hours a day,
or two hours a night,
for a second-hand fan.
I slept my nights in that balcony,
closer to the western window,
to get some fresh air.

The bus is getting so fast.
It’s late, it’s really late.
It’s almost eleven at night.
All of sudden, it’s lightening outside,
and the bus gets slower,
as it’s thundering.
I see raindrops on the bus windows.
Amazed, passengers look all round,
reminding me of Gaza cold nights,
in winter,
when my mom covered me with five blankets,
and I needed more,
in that same dark room,
that had no electricity for the heater.

Mohammed Arafat
21-07-2019
Jul 2019 · 161
Memory From Srebrenica
Mohammed Arafat Jul 2019
The beautiful skies were grey that night.
So dark it was, but not night though.
Unlike every day, it wasn’t bright.
I got my wrap and hid below.

Far away from my father and mother,
I still don’t remember where they were.
In the other room, there was my brother,
and my sister… I couldn’t find her!

That frightening time, I was four years old,
when unknown army attacked our home.
I thought it was tale my granny has told,
but it was real, and ended with a tomb.

I heard them breaking the door,
with their big shoes full of mud.
I screamed, “Mom, is it the war?”
“Mom, I don’t want to see blood.”

Neither she nor daddy talked.
My small siblings were hushed.
Towards me, a soldier walked.
He grabbed me out and rushed.

I started to scream and to cry.
Looking all round me, I saw nothing but death.
It was my parents, brother and my…
They even killed my sister.. She had no breath.

Outside my old home, I just saw no lane.
Neighbors, trees, pets were gone.
Just mess, I had no words to explain.
The Srebrenica massacre had begun.

I was taken to a far camp,
where men, elders and boys were beaten.
On us, soldiers started to stamp.
I bled, I felt like I was eaten,

Women’s mourns were heard.
Army began to hit them and ****.
Though, they had no word.
From the monsters, they could not escape.

So tired I was, so I passed out.
Never woke up until I was taken,
to some place I never heard about,
It was with almighty God, in heaven!
Today marks the 24th anniversary of the massacre of the Bosnian town of Srebrenica.
Mohammed Arafat Jun 2019
While Praying, Hymns for Jerusalem

Like the rest of worshippers,
I pray to God,
every morning,
every noon,
and every evening.

On a prayer rug made in Jerusalem,
I kneel in passion,
like nobody else does,
giving up my pride,
crying while talking to God,
while connecting to him,
while doing my best,
so he can accept my prayers,
in this world full of oppression,
arrogance,
and injustice.

I remember the old city,
When looking at the prayer rug.
I can imagine every corner it has,
and every alley.
As if in front of me,
I see prayers worshipping the same God I worship,
but with different hearts,
hardened and softened.

I am still weeping.
None is around me to wipe my tears.
I am all alone,
but with my God,
talking to him,
and crying while bowing down to him,
Not because I am scared of him.
no!
He isn’t scary.
But because I am honoured to talk to him.
He is merciful.

I prostrate,
with seven of my bones touching the ground,
like all Muslims all over the world.
Closing my eyes,
I see the high walls dividing our lands,
our farms,
our people,
and dividing Jerusalem,
into two,
East and West.

I see checkpoints,
a lot of them,
surrounded with armed soldiers,
and a lot of police dogs,
security checking the prayers,
who come to Jerusalem just to pray,
and to complain to my God.

I prostrate again,
this time I see a light,
a strong one.
My tears ceased.
It seems a light of hope,
God sends me.
telling me occupation will be over,
peace and freedom are coming.


Mohammed Arafat
June 27th, 2019
Since Jerusalem is being left alone, I am writing this poem to remember it in my days, nights, dreams, and nightmares.
May 2019 · 262
Hearts Iced
Mohammed Arafat May 2019
It is the end of the season,
but it seems very warm outside.
People wear T-shirts and shorts,
while I am under three blankets and more.

My feet and hands iced,
just like the iced hearts and faces of those,
seeing civilian homes demolished,
kids having funerals at an early age,
fetuses dying inside their mothers’ wombs.

Just like the silenced world,
feigning pity and love,
while there is no love,
amid this chaos and strife,
of the broken crying families,
and their unspoken tragedies.

Just like the moonless cold nights,
the people of Gaza can’t sleep at,
and like the empty streets,
having no lights,
having no laughs or smiles,
but the ghosts of the war.

Just like the cold-blooded murderers,
bombing and shelling everywhere,
with no mercy,
with no love,
with no peace,
heartlessly,
with their heavy weapons.

Just like those spreading fear and horror,
terrorizing women and kids,
snatching their joy,
childhood,
womanhood,
and their life.

Mohammed Arafat
05-05-2019
This poem is about the people of Gaza who have been under attacks since days.
Mohammed Arafat May 2019
I am from a place,
where violence takes place,
by outsiders and insiders.
I oppose horror
terror,
melancholy,
and every fear chasing me.
I barely can, though.

In my thoughts, however,
I flee the darkness,
the hate and the arrogance.
I run off the imposed siege along with my tears,
with my good and bad memories,
with my stolen childhood,
and my ruined adulthood
with my beating heart full of holes.

Into the farthest city, I want to descend,
like a prophet, an angel or a human.
I just want to descend anyways,
into Jerusalem, the city of peace,
and righteous.

I walk through the lanes of its old town,
among the stalls of its old markets,
built of limestone.

With my wide-open eyes,
I mediate the high woody gates,
closed for hundreds of years,
I stare at its historic walls,
several armies from different epochs,
tied their mares to, across old ages.

I gape at the Holy Sepulcher Church,
the Omar Mosque located opposite it,
and Al-Buraq Wall.
I sense the worshipers all around,
praying and thanking God,
for the peace, he gives them, daily.

I get into the deep alleyways,
full of people with and without Kofeyyas.
I look at the golden Dome of the Rock,
and the Al-Aqsa Mosque,
from outside, insanely.

I take off my plastic slippers at the entrance,
after checking all details around with my five senses.
Getting ready to pray too, I enter the holy mosque.
I raise my hands,
kneel,
and pray,
for peace and for love,
in Jerusalem,
and around Jerusalem.

Mohammed Arafat
04-05-2019
This poem is dedicated to my beloved city of Jerusalem.
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