At his touch...

“I crave you in the most innocent ways”, he whispered to her neck.

Her perfume was made of wild berries, which reflected her spirit. But whenever he rested his head on her heart, he smelled serenity and sheer love.
She was a childhood house’s memories, a rainbow after a gray sky - she was everything beautiful.
And he was positive he’s loved her in lifetimes before.

They’d park by the seaside, roll down the windows, stretch their legs out and stare at the August night sky. Stars shone down on them, blessing their companionship.
They sipped hot chocolate, smoked and listened to the waves wrestling the rocks.
In moments like these, they could’ve sworn they were infinite.

They were fragile creatures, stitched with shattered hearts and broken promises.
Yet, together their scars faded away and pain became a mere memory. Side by side, they were Sultans, they were monarchs - they were invincible.
Without any substance or alcohol, they were highly drunk off each other. She was his very personal brand of drugs and he was her supply of euphoria.
At his touch, hurricanes rose beneath her skin. And her embrace intoxicated him.

However, he wasn't hers to keep and she couldn't belong to him.
They both were not whole. Parts of their souls were forcefully torn away.
They were debris of human beings, ravaged by life.

Their racing heartbeats spoke what their mouths failed to. Love required some falling and the two were too afraid of heights.

Hunger hurts...

My waistline looks like I just swallowed whole a gigantic doughnut. I wish I did. My thighs are Siamese, glued together.  My breasts suffocate in a worn-out bra, and I got two chins for the price of one. 

I look nothing like the anchorwoman on TV who always talks about my hometown; or that other girl who interviewed me, sympathized with us and never came back.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My stomach is roaring. I’m starving. I haven’t had food for two days and my three kids had bread – only, yesterday.

I know he will be coming anytime now. My children rush out screaming happily: “Mr. Hero! Mr. Hero!”
To them, he is. He brings fresh milk, eggs, bread and sometimes candy. Today, he carries sandwiches, too.
He points to a small clearing a few meters away from the tents. The kids take the sandwiches and head there. 

As they walk away, he snaps his fingers twice, calls me “oil barrel” and commands me to turn around and bend down.

It’s clear to me now that he gives me this name because of my skin color and shape; and it only seems clearer that he doesn't like to see my face either.

He reeks of nicotine and sweat.
He lifts my skirt. It usually takes him fifteen to twenty minutes. My torture has a time frame.
My cheeks soak in tears, my body stings in disgust and my heart shatters in shame.
As he finishes, I wash myself, fake a smile and go eat with my babies.

To my kids, he is honorable. To me, he is extremely despicable.

The Beach...

All of my friends are wearing shorts. So I roll up my jeans and tuck the hem of my shirt inside.
Not even my clothes or my mom’s warnings to keep them neat and clean are going to stop me from having fun!

We race down to the beach. I make it first. I stand tall in front of all the other boys and give them a proud look. I had always been the fastest among them.

Taha takes a handful of sand and throws it on my face. Samir steps on my foot and I fall down. We all laugh.
Then we chase each other and start splashing water
Life to us is very simple. We enjoy little things and we are always happy.

After a while, we look up the sky and see something flying. We don’t live near an airport and I have never seen a plane this close. Then it comes closer and the sound becomes deafening.
We all start running. Our feet don’t touch the ground.
I live in Gaza so this means one thing.
I don’t look back. I run. We hide in a container. And I hear a missile launched.

I see the beach and my grandfather walking out of the water towards me. His skin is still wounded and his shirt has holes in it. But he is no longer bleeding. He is still dressed in the same clothes he wore the night I last saw him. A big smile decorates his face.
He touches my cheek. I go into his embrace and walk towards the depth of the sea.

Hiraeth...

She wasn’t sure
he would move out
of her being,
in which he made a home.

She wasn’t certain
if the marks he'd left
would wash off
from her soul.

She didn’t know
who she became
or if ever,
she’d be whole.

Yet, a tree,
without a main branch,
with time,
would still have grown.

A novaturient...

From ruins of herself, she rose.

Made of empty promises, was her empire

Around a fence with invisible barbed wire

And, to stay away, she chose.

Surrounded by walls that greeted the sky,

High, a thousand foot drop
impossible to climb atop
unreachable; even if they try

Words of silence, she composed

And sang melodies no one can hear
She planted courage, buried fear
and harvested strength, as a crop

Of broken pieces, she built a shield
and became her own empress
her universe put on a brand new dress
and each cell in her was healed.

Mistreat

Hearts that don’t beat
Mouths with no smiles
Teeth that only gnaw
the flesh of children’s feet

Monsters in the wild
all disguised as beasts
In their blood runs bile,
in their veins exists no heat

Deserts with stained snow,
mountains cry in defeat;
people mistaken for animals,
preys not heard as they plead

Darkness sits on a throne
and revenge tastes so sweet
Pain cracks each bone
of corpses resting on the street

To hate, humans are prone
Even angels have learnt to cheat

Tacenda!

It's the color of what extreme pain feels like
It's the color you hear when reality strikes

It's the color you smell when death is near
It's the color you taste when hope disappears

It's the color in your heart when the wrong person resides in it
It's the color of your smile when you're forcing it

It's the color of your trust when you're stabbed in the back
It's the color of your confidence when she has something you lack.
It's BLACK!