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.

Can my muses
be revolting with my sisters
while my pencil carves
its sorrows
on papers
wet with tears?

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

خدني ع مقهى يونس



لين اا -

In the orphanage a child
cowers from cursing men outside.
She wants to climb back into
her dead mother’s womb
and hide inside its warm, soft,
un-edged safety,
where no explanation is needed
or reason to hide under splintered
staircases or run the gauntlet to basement
bomb shelters, existing minute to minute
with strangers until the dawn arrives with her
deliverance and she refuses to be born.


Michael J. Whelan

The guns won.
Humanity lost.

The love we thought we all shared,
Shattered and the shards pierced our eyes.
The dead wanted to stay dead,
But those who are slaughtered from the soul
Want all of us to be that way too.

Hollow
Dry
Hungry
Loveless.

On this day, I don't even want to pray.
I have seen what religion does to people.

It's not a War that's brewing,
It's a force field:
One that hides us from each other,
One that forbids communication.

We are a confused people.
Painting our false faces won't help.
And now,
I don't know what will.