Poetry Posts

I am my own Grandpa

Many, many years ago
When I was twenty-three
I got married to a widow
Pretty as could be.

This widow had a grown-up daughter
With flowing hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
And soon the two were wed.


Success is counted sweetest

By those who ne'er succeed.

To comprehend a nectar

Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host

Who took the Flag today

Can tell the definition

So clear of Victory

As he defeated-dying

On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph

Burst agonized and clear!

Emily Dickinson
Grandma’s wrinkled hands

I kiss Grandma's wrinkled hands

My little head

Becomes a hundred years old.

Ali Darweesh
Alone on the grass I lie

The clouds outdistance me

The birds fly faster away

Alone on the grass I lie

Ali Darweesh

Tree of Life

Trees have played and still a crucial part in our lives. I still remember how often I was asked to write essays about tress when I was at school, probably up to the tenth grade. Luckily enough, I managed to find the English version of a poem that I used in one of the essays that I had read in an Arabic Magazine;

the robe of the dervish

The robe of the dervish

Holds the Earth tight

Turns it; it goes astray

Ali Darweesh
the pottery maker

Dizziness of ecstasy

Hits the pottery maker.

He becomes a vase.

Ali Darweesh