Her.

“Good Morning gorgeous”
echoes down the hall
her voice altered
into a decibel
that she created
a clear tone only meant
to the one who knows

I have looked at her for 27 years
and counting, I witnessed growth
naturally aligned with her stars
never gone astray
with a mind for a compass
a heart to balance and a body to embrace
those who need

Her strength bewitched me
from mishaps to miracles
her legs never failed her
from tree climbing to moving houses
from cartwheels to driving in foggy weather
Her courage moved me
from enduring unfairness
to teaching about fairness
her rationale calmed me
and it was when she carried her baby
that I felt mother nature adopt her into motherhood
blessing her with power unknown to man
with endurance with love, with intensified
fountains of love, waterfalling everyday
every night into her baby’s heart
filling her with a glow only she knows how to grow

I saw her in a different light
with her own world between her arms
marveling at the strength that body has
to carry and nourish

She has become a mother
even though from time to time
I still steal a glance at the sister I knew
but I, now, am the proud sister of a mother.

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

You dumb
Don't know how to do this?

You fool
Don't know what it is?

You *******
You don't know anything
Waste of a life

I wondered if
I'm good for at least eating.

He's your master
And THAT is his masterpiece
What have you got to show?
Go to him again.
Wait till he ratify you
My father brainwashed

Determined, I went back to the sir
I want to have my masterpiece

And soon I did have
My masterpiece
Not one.
Not two.
But many.

MASTERPIECES!!!

Since then
My master wasn't seen
By none

Any doubts?

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

The rush
of the wind
stretched her face
in a smile
as the girl
on the swing
closed her eyes
for a while
and started
to sing
softly the verse
that she learned
the first time
she had
flown with
the birds.

The girl
on the swing
reached out
with her toes
for the
wide open sky
whilst
above and below
the birds
that had
taught her
the words
of their song
said
'Its time to let go'
so she did
and was
gone.

The East is singing. Like a slug of happy Banshee
at a salacious angle across my decedent pillow, while my phalanges
***** for your waist like a sleepwalking magnet
to the sun-drenched ***** of an impossible Mermaid.
It's Josephine for Breakfast….and all is steam.
And I Amazed.

he wasn’t overseas to be difficult.
he had pain in his arm, he thought

he could find a snake.  a cut-off toe.

our insides were still inside the time
that we knew him.  his arm it sorta  

came like a slug you might see freed

from a puddle’s hinterland eye.  slow

like that, wrong like that.  like these:  

hippies and father time.  a mole enters
an infected shoulder:  yours.  a mole

has been your heart, and peacefully.

your mother doesn’t know about the mole.
it’s not in the letter.

I find you
the lappet moth
like slug or bat
with fuzzy ears
stuck dead with
nothing except
the toxins of
my fever
abnormally
high and
boiling
how

perfect it is
to be under
your legs
bugs
or none
my fingers will
do the
crawling for
any insect
camouflaged
in the skin
dig

the nails
now
bits of flesh
under
tiny specks
of blood
gather
and your net
snags
words I’ve
never uttered