A man sits at the edge and stares at the wall
A door closed here, a doorman too tall.
You can’t pass, No reason to be told
But do stay here, the door may open before you grow old.

Restless is this man,
Let me cross this wall, I may already be late
The water is flowing on other side while deserts lay here
Shade of Green trees on other side, the sun burning men here
Storms stay silent here while the breeze sings on other side
Oh. Please let me pass.

Frustrated with silence, Man decides to force his way through
Probably the hammer will break this wall, maybe the keys will open this door
Maybe the tunnels will find their way and the ropes their hold
May the lies convince the doorman, May the ladders make me rise.

He brings his powerful hammer, all his keys and his ropes
Prepares his ladders and tunnels, with lies full of hopes.

The doorman laughs at the man, what makes you so hopeful
You know nothing of other side.
The water flows on other side but maybe drinks are not for you
The trees are indeed green but perhaps shades are not for you
Breeze does sing there but the songs are not for you

Oh mighty doorman, but my heart is set
How can I go back now, the lies have been told
May be there is no hope and no more truths to unfold
May be this wall is the end and its grandness my fold
But I still open my cards, for this beauty mesmerizing my mind
Waiting for me, singing in the trees, drinking my wine….

you can't shake hands and greet people with a smile through a wall.

Sweet Yiddish whispers in my black and white slippers
Delving into daydreams of dark and desperate days
Spilling turpentine on tiles tearing me away for miles
Feeling frantic flutters in the back of my brain
Bearing backlot benches bordering the land of Spain
Roses rowing to Roman seas that no one sees
Leering lullabies of lackadaisical lovers, known to never fly

when I saw you for the first time you were a dove on the branches shuddering with the sudden breath of sprite as white as pure snowballs
and………………………………………………………………………I
................................­.................................................................­!
days after visiting you reminding me a nightingale on the same branches singing glamorously although  comprehensible on some occasions and not very tangible on other times: hovering you upon the sky, upon the roof  was enchanting somehow
and......................................................­........................................................I
.......­.................................................................­....................!
later on, a tornado encapsulated the flight of a swallow in habit of severe immigration from the land uneasy to far and far while seeing the branches empty and songs silent tortuous the sight
and.............................................................­.................................................I
..............­.................................................................­...............!
years past and considering those days make me to reproach myself  that how wrong I was. only a butterfly sat on our written scriptures for a while never promise to stay a bit longer. Born  by spring will be die in winter night,
and.............................................................­...............................................I
................­.................................................................­.............?

Weeping willows daughter,
Why do you cry?
What do you mourn
That has fallen
To the soil
And withered?

It is
The immigrants fear
As their child is ripped
From their womb

It is
The child’s blank stare
When they are refused
Education
And forced to be
A wife

Destitution,
Desolation,
Desecration.

These are the tears
Mother Earth cries
For her children.

This is why my grief
Grows

Shucking oysters is a dangerous task.
Only skilled, determined hands may apply.
Why so dangerous a task you ask?
Well, let’s see?
There’s the salt, the grit, the unforgiving need...
the slips, the stabs, the you and the me.
Our boats rock along a forlorn sea.

Sitting on the dock of my mind,
the sun's rays slap me sober,
as it refuses to set for seven hundred thousand nights...

Patiently present in the moment, I am, totally attuned to the task at hand.

She's anything but simple,
this complexly succulent woman I've stumbled upon,
Unearthed I have, with my bare hands.
Rugged exterior, jagged edges,
a clear warning for all to see.
But a gorgeous glory awaits the determined, the brave, the patient,
I have faith...

I have faith in such a glory beyond legend,
in such beauty beyond reason.
Just because something feels like a miracle,
doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
For if jade kissed a pearl as it slipped into the sea,
it still wouldn't rival her beauty.

We are a meeting of minds that could unfurl for all time.
As she lines her eyes in paint,
and stains her lips like crimson art.
She's always ready for war,
launching a thousand ships in my heart.

Like the Greek Odysseus,
I've sailed upon contentment's shore,
sipping your wine and eating your grapes,
now I only want more.
Eros, the bittersweetness, is clawing at my door.
I want to live with you in the gap,
between consumption and desire,
between winter's ice and between summer's fire.

Unknowingly I have,
peeled the wall paper from her frame,
where ancient tapestries shown from beneath,
a secret no man could keep.
The scars cut deep into the fabric,
marks of carelessness in love.
The family ties that tear,
the tears of lovers once here,
now there.

Warmth gives way to wind,
and fire gives way to need.
She pulls me close,
then pushes me back,
rocking along a forlorn sea.

And like the sea,
she breathes life into me.
A great roiling tempest of the heart,
with a fury that blows reason from the mind.

Tame, tame, squeeze...    l e t   g o.
Give it...       t i m e.

Still though,
questions fray at the edges of her mind,
and yet,
with the passage of time,
the sea will settle,
the tide will recede.
I have faith in love.
And faith in me.   

Sure footed I am, even as we,
not yet a "we",
dodging rain drops,
dashing through the city,
hand-in-hand, we don't slip.
I think thoughts, but bite my lip.

And while I sip, I think;
“She's anything but simple,
this dandelion seed,
floating in the wind.
Walls up, head down,
a determined doctor,
a surgeon steeled for the journey,
thawing beneath me she is...”

“The most beautiful immigrant I've ever seen;
On the platform of her mind,
she longs for a home, leagues from her homeland,
while I scratch at the dirt of my own.
Do I belong here?
Does she? Do we?
Where is home? Security? Acceptance? Belonging?
Who knows what the futures holds?
Allahu alam, not you or me.”

Uncertain of answers,
is this a mirage or a dream?
I can’t know for sure,
So I take heart in the Unseen.

I crack the oyster open,
and swallow it inside.
I sip life's ambrosia,
and breathe in the sky.

I'll crack The Pearl of Persia,
one kiss at a time.

I wish I can go back home,
borrow a blanket from the living
room that was once filled with
me and my cousins' dancing,

gather four ****** from the street,
the same street I used to steal flowers from,
that now steals people's blood and lives,

borrow a branch or two from the berry tree
that my mom used to make juice out of
and give to our neighbours,
they only reside in my head now,

build a tent in my parents' backyard,
the same backyard where
I held my 6th birthday party at,
that birthday had to end early as
there was a more important event happening;

the Americans were bombing
the area I used to run so free in,
with all of my friends,
whom I never got to say goodbye to,
never get to see how puberty hit them,
or even know if they're still alive today,

today,
I live under a stable roof,
I run away from the thought of home,
because it kills me that
I left the land that once
gave birth to me,
kept me warm,
warmer than I would personally like,
once.

I've inherited my mother's fear
And my father's bitterness
And he inherited his father's recklessness
And his mother's pain
And she inherited
And he inherited
And we've inherited hatred of our own kind
Passed down from the terrorists who have colonized the lands and minds and bodies of my ancestors
And I can feel the anguish & the effects of this hereditary agony from here;

I am ready to heal.