i am stuck in a world where the days repeat,
as the calendar looks back at me in deceit.
and even the sands of time look the same,
when the hands on the clock constantly change.

it felt like just yesterday when it was january,
when we made our hopes and wishes merrily.
blissfully naive on what was to come;
dreams, plans and lives having come undone.

alas, i am one of the fortunate ones,
allowed to continue with life since it's begun.
but in moments like this i feel really small,
confronted by life within these four walls.

i try my best to fill the silence,
while the world outside rings with sirens.
the pressure to be productive calls out in this commotion,
vacuum expanding till i'm near implosion.

and i feel guilty for feeling that way,
for there are people fighting through their days.
but i know their battles aren't mine to fight,
and till then i will focus on mine,
from within these four walls,
until there is light.

Today I am running on empty
nothing inside to fuel my rising
from this morass.

Does this wet lowland into which I sink
come from me
or the invading viral horror?

Alone I cannot raise myself up
I need a power far greater than me
to invade heavy me
with light.

This Distant Light
by Walid Khazindar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Bitterly cold,
winter clings to the naked trees.

If only you would free
the bright sparrows
from your fingertips
and release a smile―that shy, tentative smile―
from the imprisoned anguish I see.

Sing! Can we not sing
as if we were warm, hand-in-hand,
sheltered by shade from a sweltering sun?

Can you not always remain this way,
stoking the fire: more beautiful than expected, in reverie?

Darkness increases and we must remain vigilant
since this distant light is our sole consolation ...
this imperiled flame, which from the beginning
has constantly flickered,
in danger of going out.

Come to me, closer and closer.
I don't want to be able to tell my hand from yours.
And let's stay awake, lest the snow smother us.

Walid Khazindar was born in Gaza City. He is considered to be one of the very best Palestinian poets; his poetry has been said to be "characterized by metaphoric originality and a novel thematic approach unprecedented in Arabic poetry." He was awarded the first Palestine Prize for Poetry in 1997. Keywords/Tags: Arabic, translation, Arab, Palestine, Palestinian, Gaza, distant, light, flame, fire, autumn, winter, trees, birds, sparrows, fingertips, smile, sing, shade, sun, fire, darkness, hand, hands, snow

At the moment when
the last rays
acquiesce
to the faint glimmer of stars
and the time we have had
looks to be setting
on a far away horizon,
a finger of light
slips through long shadows
cast by tree trunks
and sparkles in the mica particles
of blazing red dust;
a trail to follow
a possible promise of a reclaimed day
that creeps into the undergrowth
and vanishes
with the pink sky.

It just dawned on me,
I’m just like the moon
always retreating
once the light arrives.

Sleepless night! those who are sleeping tight
tell me how do you sleep without thinking and sleep so light
don't you have any thought?

Broken,
What a strange things?
Light shines through the crack of things are broken.
Broken,
What a strange concept?
The most beautiful words are always flowed from the most broken soul.
Broken,
What a strange concept?
There's a beauty in broken things even light has to be fractured to make colors.
*Broken is a temporary state for humans,
Broken never existed to begin with.