There to Stay

Fingertips slowly type:

“Visiting Jerusalem tomorrow night.”

Thoughts whisper weird things;

Most of them make no sense.

 

The lights went out and the room got chilly,

I shivered a little, thought more:

Tomorrow night..

How is it going to be?

Will the path be as my grandma portrayed it,

As my grandpa once described it?

 

Long ..

Very long..

Every step will take years to make,

Every laugh will take years to echo

Because of the walls,

Because of the people,

Because of the buildings

 

Yet,

It will be there soon enough.

 

El Masjed will feel our presence

As it shall linger.

It will feel our breaths,

It will hear our hearts,

It will feel our hands as we tickle it

With the same tips of fingers we used:

“Visiting Jerusalem tomorrow night.”

 

I thought Jerusalem knows how to treat guests

I assumed it was going to be a wonderful visit

I have always wanted to visit Jerusalem.

 

“Aye, there’s the rub.”

 

It repelled me and everyone else with me

“Visitors,” said she,

“Guests?”

Perplexed, shocked:

Jerusalem could speak?

 

“Is this your  ambition?

To visit Jerusalem?

To be guests at your own house?

To take luggage for a day only? “

 

Shameful, scared, speechless, powerless

Haven’t we ever said,

“I am moving to Jerusalem tomorrow night” ?

Where we shall have

” One short sleep past” until

“We wake eternally.”

 

 

A First Breath And A Last

“3 .. 2 .. 1 .. Clear!”

Life ended the second it began,

The child grew with the guilt of the loss;

How selfish he felt

When they told him because he came,

She left.

Every time he tried to sleep,

It haunted him until it was time to wake.

The cries of his mother blended in his,

Couldn’t distinguish which is which.

To mourn or to celebrate?

To kiss goodbye or hug hello?

The father was lost ‘twixt

Two opposite worlds:

A thin line between life and death,

Happiness and grief.

He held a life in a hand and sailed another with tears,

He tried to find a way

To escape that endless horizon which adopted his existence:

Mountains seemed to ‘wall’ between freedom and self-imprisonment.

It was to time to run away for both of them:

The father hit by a bus,

The son aged and slept his last temporal death

By the tomb which carried his mother

Like the womb it once carried him.