I watch more TV or
lose myself in a screen,
far away from real life
and authentic people.
Category: <span>Poetry</span>
These eyes
The trust, the love, the bond—
so fresh, so fragile,
so strong already.
When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
Wandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal, after learning my flight had been delayed four hours, I heard an announcement: “If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately.”
They don’t publish the good news.
The good news is published by us.
I hope you will never hear bombs, child
and hide in bunkers for hours, sometimes even days
I try to peel the scotch tape from the windowpane—
so stubborn I can’t claw it off
I stop by the nearest supermarket
for sponges and cleaning gloves
throw in some steel wool
for good measure
Not one word
can describe
the essence
of who I am
and what I stand for.
It changes.
