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To Rachel

March 16, 2013 By 1 Comment

Guest contribution by Anthony Betori

Editor’s note: Exactly ten years ago, 23-year-old Rachel Corrie was crushed to death by an Israeli military armored bulldozer in the occupied Gaza Strip as she tried to prevent the demolition of a Palestinian family’s home. Nobody has been held accountable for her death.

Rachel Corrie

Rachel, thank you but I am so sorry
I am so sorry that you are not here
that you were killed by
hatred

Rachel, I am lonelier because
You are not here
and this fight is one soul weaker
one soul lesser

But Rachel, mostly I am thinking
about what you were thinking
as that bulldozer took
You
away from us

Rachel, I am wondering
what it was that you thought
as hope ended
as justice died [Read more...]

Filed Under: Guest Contribution, Personal, Poetry Tagged With: ,

Need to go somewhere in Palestine? Here’s how

March 8, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Guest contribution by Deena Kishawi

Need to go somewhere?
Here’s how.

Walk into the street, about a third of the way in,
Put your arm out.
Within moments, taxis will swarm around you,
Honking to you.
The window is down so you tell the driver where you need to go.
Sheikh Ridwaan.
He tells you he’s going in the opposite direction.
You say thank you and exchange a final salaam.

You repeat the process.
This time, the taxi is going in your direction.
You get in, squish yourself next to the lady with a little boy sitting on her lap.
You take out a shekel and tell the driver “Itfadal“
He extends his hand.

“Enjoy the ride” he says.

You have a long ride to Sheikh Ridwaan.
You open the window a bit to let the Gaza breeze in.
The smell of the beach,
The sand,
The charcoal and burning wood from the grilled corn on the side of the road,
The smoke from the driver’s cigarette,
All penetrate the cab’s cabin. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Guest Contribution, Poetry Tagged With: , ,

Queen from the Street

January 30, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Guest contribution by Karimah Al-Helew

Bil’in, Palestine. Salted Paper Print. Summer 2011. Photo credit: Thawab

While volunteering in the West Bank, I often came across the same woman. She was always smiling, always walking, and radiant. Despite her obvious age, she was timeless. Oftentimes she would carry a heavy sack on her head, hunching her over. I was always amazed by her almost-in-half-gait and how she made it appear seamless. Royalty. All I could think of when I would see her was true royalty.

Flowing trees roam the plain like they’re just meant to be
Emerald, olive, sage and sea
Every lush symbol of green, enchanting eyes of those who embrace the land that feeds
Knee high ribbons whistle through the clear, caressing breeze
Respectful proposals come from her bended knees
And she gave them with no selfish sighs or second thoughts or resounding reverie
For your trust I will work until you deem that I have earned
I will sift the dust between my hands until beneath my nails there is the permanent mark of dirt
I promise I will love you with every sift and every turn
For the earth she never asks, she but serves
And green,
Green stained thumbs, flowing from withered arms and crooked backs,
folded.
Reminiscent of book binds. Closed neatly but meant to be opened.
Read me.
She walks, you can’t see her if you don’t look.
But she is the strongest woman I see in the street. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Guest Contribution, Poetry Tagged With:

Guilt

January 29, 2013 By 1 Comment

Guest contribution by Tasneem Odeh

Guilt
Ripples through me
Evoking transcending tears.
Decline the right to pass or
Face the evil guns swinging in my
Little sister’s face filled with fear.
It’s in her name, Jenin
Represents the baby-graves.
It’s in my blood,
Like acid through my veins.
It’s in the zephyr against my cheek
Drying out my racing tears
As another’s falls upon debris
That was once their home
Never again to be seen. [Read more...]

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The sand

January 29, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Guest contribution by Deena Kishawi

Beaches of Gaza.

The sunset looks different than the one in Chicago.

Pink,
Yellow,
Orange.

Violet,
Plum,
Black.

Then the blue of the ocean.

But the stark contrast of the white sand against the colored sunset and horizon makes the beach seem beyond this world.

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure”
Soda cans, plastic bags, chicken bones.
But the sand is still white.
Pure.
Peaceful.

The sand has been through it all,
The struggle of those who walk across it, those who leave their footprints in it by the water’s edge.
The sand has heard the stories of those who’ve walked from village to evicted village.
The sand has absorbed the blood from Operation Cast Lead.
The sand witnessed the deaths of entire families.
The sand is a home to some —
It carries the weight of its people. [Read more...]

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A cup of hope

January 24, 2013 By 2 Comments

Guest contribution by Deena Kishawi

“Kubayyit barrad yakho” you shout to the guy at Kazem as he takes your shekel.
He hands you a cup of icy yellow slush.
Flavor: mystery —
Or rather, TOP SECRET.
No one knows how it’s made.
No one can replicate Kazem’s barrad.
Banana flavor? Mango? Pineapple? Lemon? Guava?
Only Kazem knows.

A corner on Omar Al-Mukhtar Street is home to the city’s favorite colorful ice cream shoppe.
The clear plastic dixie cups with
The clear plastic straw and
The yellow concoction
Bring a smile to any Gazan’s face,
Young or old. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Guest Contribution, Poetry Tagged With: ,

My only sect is Iraq

August 3, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Guest contribution by Budour Hassan

The Qana Massacre, the Second Intifada, the War on Afghanistan, the July War and the Cast Lead massacre. My childhood and teenage years were defined by war, either as a witness or spectator. Though I have been privileged to avoid physical harm or loss of family members, one event in particular that changed me so profoundly was the invasion of Iraq. Prior to the invasion, I’d blather for hours on Arabism and Arab unity. The fall of Baghdad made me realise that it was all a worn-out, tedious cliché that only existed in songs.

For years we have been watching Iraq getting torn apart by occupation and sectarianism. We are tired of counting the dead; we are tired of caring about the dead. Writing seems like the only way I could express my affection for the people of Iraq. I wrote this poem—confessions of a lover—in 2006 when the civil war in Iraq was at its peak. Reading it now, I know it’s perhaps too romantic and detached from reality, but I don’t regret it. And as the final verse says: “My only sect is Iraq.”

إعترافات عاشقة
:عندما أقول اسمك
يُزهرُ البنفسجُ في خصلِ شَعري
تختبي الحمائمُ في فيء عينيَيّ
تورِقُ القصائدُ على شَفَتَيّ

وتغفو الفراشاتُ في مهدِ صدري

:عندما أُردّدُ اسمكَ
تُصلّي الشُموسُ.. يُغنّي القَمَرْ
تسمو الروابي وتزهو التلال
تناغي المُروجُ رؤوسَ الجبال [Read more...]

Filed Under: Guest Contribution, Personal, Poetry Tagged With: , , ,

Rafeef Ziadah: ‘Cultivate hope’ for Hana Al-Shalabi (with lyrics)

March 27, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Rafeef Ziadah, a Canadian-Palestinian spoken word artist who received wide acclaimed for her piece “We teach life, sir“, is out with a new piece in honor of Hana Al-Shalabi’s heroic sacrifice.

Today marks day 41 in Al-Shalabi’s hunger strike. Protesting Israel’s policy of indefinitely holding Palestinians under “administrative detention”, Al-Shalabi remains persistent in her will to see freedom.

Ziadah recites this piece over music by Phil Monsour. The official lyrics can be found below the video.

.

[Read more...]

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Unison

March 8, 2012 By 7 Comments

Guest contribution by Karimah Al-Helew

Dear World,

I just wanted to tell you that I love you. Please Smile. I am a person. A Woman. A Muslim. A Cuban-Palestinian born in America, and I happen to express myself better in poetry—or at least I think I do. With that written, I ask you to stand in my shoes for a minute. Below is a piece, a snapshot, a taste of life in Palestine as it embraced me during my last visit. We live in a place where injustice is as evident as the sky is blue. But with every breath that we breathe, we can counter it, even if it is just by telling someone else’s story. Or our own.

Peace and thank you,
Karimah Al-Helew

Unison

There is so much to say, I can’t just say it
There is so much I’m feeling I can’t just explain it
I try to sift the words that swim in my mind
But I’m afraid of committing an injustice
And these words might be my everything, and still fall behind.
Too often I call upon the whisper of the winds to give my words weight. Ragged breathing—thoughts—my mind in its agitated state.
Recalling memories must become my best trait; for memories are bloodlines to narratives silenced by the Holy Lands woven fate
This is more than skin. Captured moments so deep
I want you to know, to be, to see.
May my eyes be windows and ease this heart in limbo
Even though,
Even though my memory is not photographic
I will work my hardest to paint sounds for you with absolutely no static. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Guest Contribution, Personal, Poetry Tagged With: , , ,

“Yours”: A tribute to Palestinian mothers

January 19, 2012 By 12 Comments

Yours is the face we wake up to,
through our eyes and in our minds,
and the face that wishes us to sleep
the night the missiles fall. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Personal, Poetry Tagged With:
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