The book of works
Spare me the details?
Suffice, in a general task, irked
That said the comments of Israel...

Polite shoes, on the anniversary of reign
To share an eye full, the truth in a hidden
Taste, for ancientness in the silence, of when
A philosophy comes, is a paradise for the asking?

Oft a share's heed, silent until a kiss never's...?
The haste of poise, the turn of this into something greater...
Welcome home, avarice, the total of courage has a lover
That fated justice in a pale memory for you, the fates of tomorrow?

Wishes in cold conveyance, the times to remember the heat?
Torrid as we are, a taste for houses of promises
Are we the reality to beat, come hell or high water to eat?
A grape, the pretense of mercy - in an accord we due, to vices...

A house of which and worlds of worth
That has none, a squalor that completes the circle...
Of space for a yearning soul, semblance in a call heard
By any who would, a cause curious enough to hope, miracles...

Have a shadow of youth, to a gesture of time, to a coarse song
Winking and preaching a salty tune, that is to come...
A livid appearance of kind, if not kings of journey and wealth, long
To the tooth and made from frank controversary, we dumb...

Salt and honey, the truer passage of uniqueness
Honey and rice, the presence of love, with a cordial ordeal
Rice and vinegar, known to take the time at life's crossroads, to bless
Vinegar and myrrh, with a personal observation, the very winds of healing...

Add milk?
So do we, the irony of prayers that substitute a focusing heart
To wisdom and undue hate, the pyres and frustration's of ilk
To see you in a holiness's robe, the voice we keep, sincere Jerusalem's?

Stones of health, or the knife of war...
Poignant to a fall, the season we chose for a character to blow
The untoward, the cares of simplicity to kingdom come, for out
A rallying heat's rage, that has become a future we know...

With another's heart, the total of cherubs and heaven
Look fast and hard, the haste we further, is a nerve
That has chosen you, for a chance of life in the giving
Where no one, more special than a kite, is a tree to serve?

I wish to not feel the aftershocks of the war occurring inside,
To not make one move that crushes my whole day
under the weight that tears my joints apart.

And yet,

Doctors smile and tell me nothing is wrong
Doctors smile and state that my pain tolerance is just too low
Doctors smile and run the same **** tests
that produce the same **** results
They smile while I rip my hair from my scalp.

The days bleed into one as the clouds covering my brain
chain me to the bed and make raindrops fall from my eyes,
Friends start to believe that I just don't care when I leave their messages covered in dust,
dying in a graveyard called my will to live.

I want to be there for them,
my soul needs to be present with them,
but when you have to box a heavy weight champion inside your own veins just to be able to take a single step,
you got nothing left to give to anyone else.

I'm stumbling through this performance titled life
not even knowing the identity to the puppet master pulling the strings,
fighting an invisible battle against a nameless warrior
and somehow meant to smile and bear it.

in a Serbian hospital ward
the dingy overheads blink in and out of existence
i wished i were dead
bedside, my mother weeps
saddened by what remains of her boy
what doctors had been able to save
my eyes weigh heavy
the morphine they have me on is strong
stronger still is the pain
radiating, like heat off the hearth
and the woe from my brothers
interred in the earth
you can live
to still die
you can live, dead
but no horrors can you see greater
than the ones in men's heads

Sixty-seven children have been slaughtered.
Sixty-seven dreams have been shattered.
Sixty-seven beautiful faces have now vanished.
Sixty-seven vibrant smiles have faded.
Sixty-seven beds are left empty.

Palestinian children, like all children, love to play.
Palestinian children are longing for peace.
The children of Gaza dream to be teachers, nurses, artists, engineers, and doctors.
Palestinian children want to breathe.
Palestinian children's lives matter!

(Palestinian children killed by Israel in Gaza in May, 2021)

Hussein Dekmak

Your left knee is arthritic,
Your spine is warping too
Your reactions aren’t so quick
And you’re often in the loo,
But we cannot help you
Your time is simply due.
It’s normal for your age.

Your skin’s become quite dry
As well as your nether parts
Your outfit isn’t fly
And you’re far more prone to farts
But it’s been written in the cards
It’s been sung by many bards
It’s normal for your age.

You tell me it’s an illness
And you want it treated fast
I’m afraid it’s your willfulness
You weren’t designed to last
The diagnosis is that your youth is in the past
We won’t treat your condition; the die’s already cast.
It’s normal for your age.

Pinanday ka ng panahon
May tapang na hindi
basta sumusuko,
sa lahat ng laban
wala kang inuurungan,

Agimat mo ay katapangan
na umagaw mula sa kalaban.
Buo at tibay ng iyong loob
ano man ang iyong sagupain
walang di kakayanin.

laban mo’y hindi biro
Una kami sa iyong puso
Bago ang iyong pagkatao
Karamay ka, sa bawat
along bumubugso.

Ikaw ang bagong bayani
ng ating lipi na nagbabalik
ng kulay at sigla bitbit
ang bandila na may kisig
at buong katapangan.

A heartfelt thanks to all going
To work on the front line knowing
You are stepping into harms way,
Risking your lives every day
In caring for, and comforting
All those in pain and suffering.
For the fantastic job you do,
Stepping up when we needed you,
For the sacrifices you make
And the daily risks you take,
The country should never forget
We are forever in your debt.
You are true heroes all of you
Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…….