Tag: Poetry

The Return Home

I need to leave the world I know behind
And though it is only for a short time,
Upon my return, I will start to find
That I do not come back to the same clime.
Though it may appear vey much the same,
I will discover when I dig deeper
That a friend will have a new face and name,
And the happening place, now’s a sleeper.
What became of this place while I was gone?
Who is responsible for all the change?
Will I always long for the days of yon
When the place I came from was not so strange?
My fate at my home is to be alone
When I am the one who has never grown.

The Death of the Movie Theater

Have we lost all originality?
Can we no longer tell a new story?
You create what you think we want to see,
A re-skinning of an old property.
When that does not draw in the wanted crowd,
You will just go with the trusted sequel,
A watered down original, but proud,
That will get all the fan boys to squeal.
It is our money that you want to grab,
And you do not care about the true art.
Instead of taking a creative stab,
You keep churning out the crap without heart.
Do not claim it’s the death of the theater
When you put out another repeater.

The Wind-up Clock

This is the last time we will wind the clock,
And we can watch it tick down ’til it stops.
The face reports the final time in lock
Being one of remembrance’s props.
Until that moment, we’ll ignore the tick
That reminds us of the limited time.
Instead, we will play on our ears, a trick
Of covering sound with a happy chime.
No matter how much noise that we can make,
The reminder will hover in our mind
Because time holds all the power to take,
Leaving only out memories behind.
Let’s make the most out of each passing tock
By not paying attention to that clock.

Summer Night in the Park

The afternoon is starting to wind down
As the sun gets reflected in the pond,
Dancing off, its sparkles will never drown
Until it sets, breaking its final bond.
I find a park bench somewhere in the shade
Where I open up the weight of a story,
Losing myself in the action that’s played,
Consuming its theme in all its glory.
Couples holding hands enjoy their own tale,
Believing the curtain will never close.
I hope that the comedy will prevail
Just as the breeze over the still pond blows.
You could not ask for a more perfect night,
The ones filled with a summer-like delight.

That One Stop on the Way Back to the Hotel

I know we are off the beaten path,
But we make sure the busses come here,
For we are the forgotten who do not hath
In the sacred place the world holds so dear.
Our hope is to tap into your pity,
So you might part with a single dinar
That will help with the growth of our city
From the weight of recent history’s scar.
You get to walk away with a trinket
That will remind you of your vacation,
And with payment there is food I will get
That will cure my family’s starvation.
Do not look at my excessive stomach;
My living is finding the one to take.

Responsibility on Hold

Life is busy on top of the mountain
As we take care of work and family.
I can not take in the sights I have seen
Because my duties do not make me free.
But I will travel down that windy road
That will remove me from my place up high,
Then I can discard this burdensome load
That me to this rocky top, it does tie.
I will make my way down below the sea
Where the sun peeks out underneath the clouds.
There I’ll find a different way to be
That releases me from the hectic crowds.
It’s a day of restful relaxation
When we take the Labor Day vacation.

The Bedouin Lament

We have always known how to tame this land
Though few can handle its brutality.
We share its beauty with a gracious hand,
But understand of its fragility.
On our camels, We’ll guide you through its sand
To marvel at its protruding mountains,
And at night, what you witness is so grand,
The canvas of sky, the light of star stains.
There are those who would like to see us banned
For they have found value with where we live.
For our old lifestyle, we must take a stand,
And we can save what they want us to give.
History tells us that we will not win,
Marking the passing of the Bedouin.

The Ride Home at Night

As the sun tilts over the sandy dunes
Making its final exit for the night,
I listen to how the blowing wind croons
It lamentation of the fading light.
Two camels carry a family home,
Guided by their Bedouin caretaker.
The sunlight silhouettes the way they roam,
Giving the dying light to their maker.
It’s a simple picture of black and white
Only seen in the world on a corner,
And though we can connect with their respite,
We like to claim that they are foreigners.
Can we not find ourselves in this landscape,
Thinking it too Oriental to escape?

The Crusaders’ Castle

We will take the defensive position
By building our fortress on the cliff face.
From up here, we’ll see any invasion
Long before they can get close to this place.
It will give us time to boil our grease,
And get each soldier to notch an arrow
That they can aim through the castle wall’s crease.
Our goal is to land the decisive blow
In this holy war we’re destined to win.
It has been foretold within the pages
Of our sacred text, to kill each pagan
Who won’t surrender to this fight’s wages.
It is the way the divinity planned,
Defending out spot on their stolen land.

Karaoke in Times of War

Let us join all our voices together,
So they can hear it all over old town.
It does not make our singing much better,
But I would like to see them shoot us down,
For this is the place, and the right moment
For us to declare, “This is our kingdom!”
After our youthful energy in spent,
We will worry about the rest to come:

The night sky brightly burning with rockets,
Making explosions with their collisions,
Deadly shrapnel that their union begets,
Marking the hated countries’ derision.

But why should I bother way over here,
Singing karaoke without a care.