|
|
|
Best Poems From
LAALA KASHEF ALGHATA
(18 February 1990)
|
|
| |
|
|
1.
|
Nibs Press Patterns
I feel the nib of my quill scratch the surface
of the sheet I am writing on and I smile, feeling
a connection with the writers of old who used to
sit by their windows to salvage the last
of the suns soft beams before turning
away to light their candles and squint their eyes
to try to finish what they had started:
their masterpiece.
I feel the nib press patterns into the sheet
and I smile as I stain it with my thoughts,
thinking of proud old ladies with snow-white
hair and crows-feet at the edges of their eyes
and mouths, wrinkles that I admire and regard
as immense beauty, proof of a life well lived.
I feel their presence and advice floating
around me as I inhale their sweet musk and
talcum powder scent; I understand their warnings.
I feel the nib dig into the sheet laid out so pure,
and I regard the elegant quill with which I script,
and realise I am not those writers of old.
I am a passing echo of their memory.
Laala Kashef Alghata
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
2.
|
Much Ado (About Nothing)
I thought that you were my Benedick
and I, your Beatrice, that we argued
against love into love, but oh! I was wrong.
Beatrice truly loved Benedick,
and he loved her. Their fights
were a vibrant cloak to veil their emotions.
No, darling, you were my Claudio,
and I, your Hero, for their love
was of the superficial kind.
Fair Hero, you only loved what your eyes
saw before you, you only loved
who you thought a great man.
Foolish Claudio! How you jump to conclusions
of the maiden you are to marry, how you break
her heart and cast her aside.
(And you killed her once but she came back
to life; no thanks to you and your selfish ways.)
Love is too tricky a treat to play with;
we are, none of us, fit to add to the ingredients
but are, all of us, allowed to stir.
Laala Kashef Alghata
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
3.
|
My Heart Complains
My heart is heavy but empty. I'm tired
of lugging it around, of leaving it hanging
like a pendulum with the string tied
somewhere near my throat.
My lips are parched, they're looking for
reasons to smile, and I have none to give.
My heart is heavy with the burden
of remembering, of holding loved ones safe
in some ancient chamber.
I fell in love once. My heart took it
well, but I soon vanquished him out
of its depths. He remained dear,
though, and I kept contact.
Now that boy is back, and my heavy heart
doesn't want any part in this. It knows
this won't end well; it beats hard and fast.
My heart is tired of failed love, doesn't want
anyone to come back inside.
I want to see my old love now,
see his smile and wait as
despite his chronic handsomeness,
the sparks fade into dying embers.
My weary heart beats fast and slow,
sighing with every breath I take.
It warns me it will not put up
with any mess. It had its age of clutter,
it says, and it likes things sterile and clear.
Laala Kashef Alghata
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
4.
|
Undying
'the great advantage to being alive
(instead of undying) is not so much
that mind no more can disprove than prove
what heart may feel and soul may touch
-the great(my darling) happens to be
that love are in we, that love are in we'
~ e. e. cummings
We are not undead, we are alive
like the wind, like the sky,
we are not the shriveled grey
of bean stalks as they inch
towards death, we are fire.
Our skin is softer than petals
no matter how harsh it feels,
it is thin and durable, easily
sliced, but think
I am alive. I am not undead.
The great advantage to being alive
is feeling alive, and the happiness
that comes with. Like melted
chocolate licking your mouth,
like warm blankets and a book.
And cummings got it right, the great
advantage to not being undead, is that
love can we, love can we.
Laala Kashef Alghata
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|