MIFTAH
Thursday, 25 April. 2024
 
Your Key to Palestine
The Palestinian Initiatives for The Promotoion of Global Dialogue and Democracy
 
 
 

Some words are hard to pronounce—

He-li-cop-ter is most vexing

                    (A-pa-che or Co-bra is impossible)

But how it can stand still in the sky

I cannot understand—

          What holds it up

                    What bears its weight

(Not clouds, I know)

It sends a flashing light—so smooth--

          It makes a deafening sound

                    The house shakes

                             (There are holes in the wall by my bed)

Flash-boom-light-sound—

And I have a hard time sleeping

(I felt ashamed when I wet my bed, but no one scolded me).

 

Plane—a word much easier to say—

          It flies, tayyara,

My mother told me

A word must have a meaning

A name must have a meaning

Like mine,

(Hadeel, the cooing of the dove)

Tanks, though, make a different sound

          They shudder when they shoot

Dabbabeh is a heavy word

          As heavy as its meaning.

 

Hadeel—the dove—she coos

          Tayyara—she flies

                    Dabbabeh—she crawls

My Mother—she cries

          And cries and cries

My Brother—Rami—he lies

          DEAD

                    And lies and lies, his eyes

                             Closed.

Hit by a bullet in the head

          (bullet is a female lead—rasasa—she kills,

                    my pencil is a male lead—rasas—he writes)

What’s the difference between a shell and a bullet?

(What’s five-hundred-milli-meter-

Or eight-hundred-milli-meter-shell?)

Numbers are more vexing than words—

          I count to ten, then ten-and-one, ten-and-two

                    But what happens after ten-and-ten,

How should I know?

Rami, my brother, was one

          Of hundreds killed—

They say thousands are hurt,

But which is more

          A hundred or a thousand (miyyeh or alf)

                    I cannot tell—

                             So big--so large--so huge—

Too many, too much.

 

Palestine—Falasteen—I’m used to,

          It’s not so hard to say,

It means we’re here—to stay--

          Even though the place is hard

                    On kids and mothers too

For soldiers shoot

          And airplanes shell

                    And tanks boom

                             And tear gas makes you cry

(Though I don’t think it’s tear gas that makes my mother cry)

I’d better go and hug her

          Sit in her lap a while

                    Touch her face (my fingers wet)

                             Look in her eyes

Until I see myself again

          A girl within her mother’s sight.

 

If words have meaning, Mama,

          What is Is-ra-el?

What does a word mean

if it is mixed

          with another—

If all soldiers, tanks, planes and guns are

Is-ra-el-i

                    What are they doing here

In a place I know

          In a word I know—(Palestine)

                    In a life that I no longer know?

 
 
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By the Same Author
 
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