|
|
|
Best Poems From
LAALA KASHEF ALGHATA
(18 February 1990)
|
|
| |
|
|
9.
|
Despite the Splinters in my Heart, I Still Love
I love like the moon can wash me
anew, like the tide can take me away.
I love like the sun will kiss my skin
golden and confuse my eyes
until I see everything with cheer.
I still love, despite the daggers
slashed at my heart, despite
the splinters left from the time
you stabbed me with glass.
I love like heaven is filled
with my friends, and hell
is empty. I love like kisses
given away aplenty.
I love like a child, drawing
hearts and figures,
and pointing to each one
in turn. I love like the angels,
like singing in clouds
is not enough. I love,
despite heartbreak,
despite past failures in love.
I love, I love, I love.
That doesnt mean
I have to love you.
Laala Kashef Alghata
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
10.
|
Draw, Speak and Describe Love
If asked to draw love
I would start at the basics.
A red crayon and a big,
full heart.
If asked to speak love
I would sing like Simon & Garfunkel
and let their words pour out
of my mouth like gossamer
or silk.
If asked to describe love
I would say it's something
between a kaleidoscope
and a yo yo. Disappearing
before we can catch
a glimpse, but leaving
such brilliant patterns
that we forget to mind
its absence.
Laala Kashef Alghata
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
11.
|
Fading Need
Shattered fragments of silence
fall in slivers to the floor
as I think about the endless
summer days, with the air
conditioning blasting on our faces
freezing the tears on our cheeks.
Possibilities, endless, stretch
into our lives like spiderwebs,
unseen and unprovoked
at first before we open our eyes
to the truth and turn into
the destructive forces that we are,
ripping apart dreams
of a winter season in summer,
and home a long flight away.
I choke on my thoughts
as the nights find me alone,
wondering about the days
to come and how empty
or full they will be.
I close my eyes and reach
for the crystal ball within
and I try to find joy
in the swirls of fog.
We've fought for independence
our entire lives, tried to break
past defences placed to stop
us from experiencing dangers
for ourselves, danced past
patterns of warnings and tried
to come of age. Now we are
old enough to deal with the tears,
the heart-wrenching pain of saying
goodbye and wondering if we
would ever see a loved one again.
The kisses on our foreheads
are brushed away and the stars
disappear into the soft velvet
of the sky, fading with the need
to wish on each one every night.
Laala Kashef Alghata
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
12.
|
Fans of Dali
Dali doesn't need us. Doesn't need
our awe or our excitement at being
amongst his pieces in London or
St Petersburg. His clocks will melt
whether we watch the time or not,
his rose will hang in wonder
whether we press our breath
in the empty space between it
and the sand plains underneath.
Dali doesn't need us looking
into the shadows of his self-portrait
or testing the strength of the sticks
holding up his dream.
Dali knows that he doesn't need
us like we need him, and that
no matter what he does, his art
drips its way into our hearts
and like his clocks, melts and forms
around our thud. thud. thud.
The world has their clocks, and most
go on daylight savings, ever-changing.
We have our clocks. They're Dali,
and they're everlasting.
Laala Kashef Alghata
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|