Hunger

I was chiefly hyperactive
Never regard to strive
As a glass breaker teenager
Did not give a darn to salt or vinegar
If provisions are divine or a man’s providence
I needed bread on the table and no “nonsense”
I did not know my dear i did not know
Why my mother day in day out swung a hoe
Dug the dry earth without nitrogen
I just carried on as i took in oxygen
Nor care what was said in world food conferences
That there was a great famine with us as reference
I didn’t bother eyes on us in the media
For i had no enough idea
I did not know my dear i did not know
What was existence and why i was low
That my ex-police alcoholic dad failed much
Even used tactics to us harsh
Why famine was such an issue and weather hot
Or mum all alone dealing with the lot
Cursing my father while singing lamentations
How he was the root cause of the situations
And why balanced diet was good for body nourishments
And why a living was like punishment
Worst if we ever realized what that balance food was
And observed the courses
Why others skin became so soft and glossy
Mine becoming rough like wryly and loosy
So thought it was preordained
That my body must be feeble and condemned

Though I envy the robust boys
Associated their bodies with joys
As they looked prince charming hunky dudes
Irresponsible of some indeed some being rude
Marasmus was dealing a blow
That’s why we had to crawl
But needed happiness
Irrespective of helplessness
I did not know my dear i did not know
That in this world one must kowtow
In order to albeit eat falling crumps
That had to glean when the rich dump
Went to collect the scummy dross
That the rich would not count as loss
That we didn’t see at all as chaff
But absolutely as endowed loaf
Even boasted gleaning more corns
Cared little about the rich owner’s horns
Simply went into winnowing
As our experience was harrowing
When our bellies got us pangs
A distressing feeling like some stings
Seeing one’s own organism shrinking
And wanted to go shrieking
That made one soliloquizing alone
Turning dead silent self-dug hole
Instead of smelling the neighbor’s treats
Abundance of ’em or meats
Such as cappuccino aroma
Was unreachably high and anathema
We had to salivate like an insatiable hyena
Or steal and be accused for misdemeanor
So we became hard-boiled in the wool
Didn’t want to look as fool
Except biting the bullet
Never as dancing in a ballet
I did not know my dear I did not know
That the hunger must me follow
Due to the poor infrastructure
My former hero “structured”
As it continues to haunt
Seemingly like a long haul
For satisfaction oscillates
Interchangeably rotates

Its bitter-sweet experiences
That i was caught in the circumstances
A downright fly in a spider web!
Or a specimen in a lab
That has no escape
But is caught and must camp
And die properly
And never honourably
When I’m supposedly full and stronger
Soon or later will be full of hunger
A vicious unending circle
Of previous mistakes tackle
The hallmark of ulcers that I have
Highly likely there was no much love
From him that would avert
The hunger if he would exert
His energy to be industrious
And his progenies would be marvelous
To never become hungry
Because it would be hurray
No below-dollar hand-to-mouth case
But upbeat for normal race
To the mainstream society
Without much anxieties
Of chiefly fundamental right
For he would have showed light
I did not know my dear i did not know
But now I seem I can glow
That hunger blows a man’s dignity
Making him with no entity
Good for nothing small potato
Without a spice or tomato
That’s why I have a message my dear
So pay much attention to hear
Such that you are competent
Considered as an instrument
Such that you can try to share
Irrespective of where
What lil morsel you have acquired
To those in need and will be admired
Due to the philanthropic compassion
A truly generous expression
To those who are hungry
And mitigate their anger
Making their life better

And not be indeed bitter
In greasing optimist wheels
For that will exactly heal

Phoenicians Once Sailed from These Shores

Fishermen, shoulders bent,
set sail daily,
carrying baits,
oil lamps, a loaf of bread.
Theirs a biblical patience,
taking them farther
every day,
muscles tight, foreheads furrowing,
awaiting for the secular miracle,
their nets deployed
in an ancestral garb,
flutters as a dancer's veil
enveloping the dense,
sterile Mediterranean waters,
scooping algae, residues, dead fish,
fugitive ripples.
They return home empty-handed,
later every time,
at dawn or dusk,
eyelids lowered,
disappearing under thick eyebrows,
their flattened nets
heavy with absence.

First published by Live Encounters
From The Taste of the Earth (Press 53 2019)

The Abandoned Stone House in Damascus
          Don’t ask me what side I am with!
                    ​Don’t ask me about the outcome!

They say rain won’t wash the indelible blood splattered in the streets, the moans and cries of
children resonate in my aching ears, filling each crack and corner of my heart. Will anyone open
doors and windows wide, let the wind in to erase the bitter clouds of gunpowder? Faces smeared
with dust and sweat all look alike, come and go as they please, their footsteps resonate in my
temples as over worn out, stretched out drums. My walls yearn for the daily smell of freshly cut
herbs, for the warmth of the hearth, the familiar sight of the iron pot hanging over glowing coals.
Once, the simmering stew was singing with spices and children played under the shade of the
olive tree. I can still hear their mother’s humming while separating lentils from stone.

First published by Mizna Literary Journal
From The Taste of the Earth (Press 53 2019)

Cotton Fields

Fields of cotton
as far as the eye can see,
row upon row of soft white balls
always thirsty
the plants and people,
always hungry
the plants and people.
A crop so thirsty it can dry up a sea
in socialism.
A crop so hungry it can starve a people
in capitalism.
A crop so needy it can render sterile the land
forced to grow it.
A crop so demanding it can destroy,
enslave
and exploit
wherever it goes.
Its softness hides a heart of steel.
But still it’s natural.
Always natural.
Only natural.

First published in The Drabble, April 2021

The Potato Eaters

The harvest looks good today
un-blighted
so we know that we shall eat
this winter
and there should be enough
to pay the landlord
and put a roof over our heads
this winter.
So we will kneel and say a prayer
that he will not ask too much.

First published in Trouvaille Review, December 2020