#checkpoint
They stopped me at the checkpoint...
“Your ID,” they said.
I laughed.
Not because it was funny
but because it was old.
Old like blood.
I said:
My ID?
My ID is buried
under a broken door
in a house time forgot,
in Yafa…
with my grandmother,
and the coffee that went cold waiting for me.
That word I said
they didn’t split into two lines.
I split.
Half of me
was dragged by the hair
and hung on barbed wire
like a shirt washed in blood,
and the other half
they crushed under their boots
and said:
this is the extra.
One line
beats
not because it must,
but because it loves
the sound of flesh confessing.
The other line
asks me:
Where is your country?
I said:
In your mouth
but you bite it every day.
I screamed:
Palestine.
Not a name
a hemorrhage.
They tore me in two?
No
they turned me into nothing.
A number at the border,
a file with no voice,
a body
trained to break
before it arrives.
But listen
despite everything,
the half of me
buried in my grandmother’s hands
is still growing.
And when it returns…
it won’t ask for an ID.
It will ask:
Who is still standing?
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 2:04 AM UTC
a Baptist
cleric that
was once
monotonous an
underwear vamp
that really
would camp
and throw
flowers with
magnolia in
spring and
barter his
loaf with
Virginia too
a stranger
in flux
for blitzkrieg
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 5:55 AM UTC
She's just touching the surface
reaching no more than her own pain
losing days trying to wash her tear stains
the world's wishing her to rise above
look in their eyes and see the truth
to see what they try to allude
there is no straight way, no easy route
and everyone is the passenger of the same boat
looking for the very same perfect coat
But no one will get something which is not theirs
fate has decided everyone's own roadmap
there are some small steps, some big traps
Wait for the check points, rather than all stones
the game of the life, all to achieve and leave
don't just halt at one step to grieve
because she's just wasting her time.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
I'm having fun playing dead while I'm keeping my head straight.
Is that hilarious or what? What's funny, is I'd rise for the right hurt.
You've detached yourself, though. Your words sound like grey sleep
within the walls I repaint, day after day when I wake, with the color
you turn away yet still absorb, like there's no short supply. My brain
works for crackers and runs on want that's begun drying.
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 4:52 PM UTC
Life is brutal
Life is tender
Life can be happy
Life can be like sand through our fingers
Life is a blessing
Life is a checkpoint
Life is a passage
Life is a journey
I'm tired
I'm old
I'm sick
I'm depressed
Complaints and complaints
when will it end?
It will end when it ends
Life is a story
God writes it out
This is our destiny
Stop trying to control
When to write 'The End'
Just work hard to make
gold out of sand
Make life worth it
Tell your own story
Fight against your enemies
Destroy old prophecies
This is Life
This is a story
One day we'll reach our destination
And witness the full glory
Of the skies up above
or the ground down below
One day we will understand
That life is gold.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC