I found you leaning over the balcony,
gazing into a world that was becoming
an illusion to you, smoking a shrinking
cigarette.
I never knew you as one to smoke,
But I suppose that everyone
Has their surprises to the world.

Your eyes burnt like coals, staring until
everything before you smoldered to dullness,
the intensity
of your gaze could burn
down any hopeful living thing
to an ashen pile of decay.

Your disillusionment brought you here,
guided by
the optimistic notion, that the other side
of the garden bears riper fruit.
You traveled here with weary eyes, your hope
diminished to find the same dust
of your native dystopia
lingering on the bottom of your shoe.

I could feel you burning from here,
Your sweat glistening face lit
by the cigarette flame and moonlight,
Your shoulder tensed by the touch of my hand,
As you said to me,
How the stars seemed so close,
glowing together,
seeming inches apart in the sky,
But they were oblivious of eachother,
as they burnt unmindfully
billions of miles away.

I stood by you feeling the refreshing bitterness
of the cooling Autumn air,
oh, how we stood inches apart, you and I,
and had since grown billions of miles
away…

I know that once you escape the clutches
of your overbearing Arab parents,
it will be something of a rabid dog
unchained
running from the mercy of his master.

You’ll experience a bold new world
they tried to conceal from you,
(in both ends of the extremes)
But perhaps after late night meals of
canned vegetables and ramen, you’ll
develop the lingering taste
in your mouth
for Mama’s Kenafeh.

You say you’ll never miss them,
but somehow I know
that one day,
be it just when you step into your dorm
or when you’re thirty-five and
pondering how to raise your own children--
you’ll have the vague intuition,
that perhaps your parents only wanted for you
what they never could have had,
before you dismiss the idea as nonsense.

Adulthood is never initiated
on a birthday,
the obligation to pay the bills,
or even the freedom
to eat those two desserts,
but rather when you realize that childhood
has been terminated—the stage
where you sigh and suppose
that magic was just an illusion
when you finally see how
the real world operates.

In a world divided by borders and tongues,
where exceptions exist by chance,
little do we think of those we’ll never meet
that we would hold dear,
had we lived in their country
or spoken their language.

I don’t see the same curiosity
in those once intent and happy
eyes, youthful spirit drained
by the aging of disappointment.

The boy who once took me
into the vast and curious night
Has adjusted to the daytime notion
That no one can live forever.

I still recall who you were
Before I thought you disappeared,
You journeyed long into what you thought
would be your inspiration—
You returned with vague reluctance
wearing a disheartened gaze;
the stare of the boy who sought his ways
in the life he prepares to live,
how in his disillusionment he cursed
the world in the core—yet he says
that all is well.

I think you once told me, that no one
is born a cynic.
Bitterness to the world
Is all but an empire
of crushed ideals
you once held dear,
my misanthropic friend.

I dreamt I found you in the meadow—nestled
happily in the forgiving arms
of mother earth.
You had since grown accustomed
To a life of wilderness – of hummingbirds
and weeping trees, the dirt
and sunshine, and
on your knees
you prayed, to your newfound god
of the soil.

I beckoned you near, and you froze
Unsure of the language of the verbose
world you came from
and had forgotten.

I once walked carefully, step by step
Avoiding the savage mud,
yet instead
I ran toward you, and let
my garments
of civilization tatter.

Please tell me why I stand here, for I
have forgotten,
And perhaps, if You’ll forgive me,
it’s better that I stay here…

He stands against the wind and smiles—
a boy of intuition against the harsh world
of concrete.

You might find him waiting, standing alone
along the sidewalks
with his trusted old guitar
Unjudging eyes merely wander—
watching fellow lives simply be.
His sing-song voice
speaks joy into the world,
never telling anyone
how they ought to live.

He says he knows nothing of the world, but
I’ve never met one more wise, than one
who denies his ego, just letting
the world go by.