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

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