By the River

  September 3, 2019 Have I become so dull, that I cannot delight in the mystery? Have I become a vacuum, releasing neither light nor love? Have I become so deaf as to no longer weep from the flute or lyre?  The earth can be reduced to atoms and quarks, but can the suffering soul? Can one who only sees revolving gears, speak of time and eternity? If love is only a biological device, why should one die for it? If nature does not share its song, of what value are the swaying trees? If I am not humbled by the stars, have I not gone mad? In my search for understanding have not the words drowned the meaning of their union? If the horizon beyond beckons me not, of what use is my exploration?  If I cannot hear the question, have not my thoughts become stale? Indeed it has been said, “an answer is always a form of death.”

October 21, 2020 O Autumn Leaf,  Clinging to your familiar branch The one you love,  Bound together in mutual nourishment Through the seasons.  Youthful vibrance,  Your smooth green cloak conforming neatly  Replaced by a cornucopia Of reds, yellows, and oranges. Astonishing scars of enduring  Through the seasons.  Gone are the days Of your hopeful curious budding. The end is nigh,  You can feel the cool Northern whispers as they Announce the season. Yet gently you flutter,  Basking in the morning light from an increasingly Cloudy sky above you.  There is serenity in your countenance as if you hold The secret of the seasons. Slowly you let go.  Swaying softly, carried by the wind to the hardening dirt. To lie among leaves already fallen. Kissed by the shadow of the tree that held you, dearly, Through the seasons. O Autumn Leaf,  Majestic colors faded, the snow is gathering in the clouds. You gaze once more at the sky. Time’s war...

  August 31, 2020 So you don't believe in the Devil,  What luxury! What privileged skepticism! How peaceful must your sleep be,  Wrapped in angels, undisturbed by demons.  I witnessed the Devil with my own eyes.  I can still hear his mangled maniacal laughter as he Crushed bones and stamped out  Souls in his polished black shoes.  The Devil wears a white suit and  With perfect precision and keen attention Takes notes on developments of —                                                    child experiments.  With haughty grace, he marched Over dreams and futures without Chain to restrain his impulse Nor bond to   slow     his     pace.  The title for healing attac...

July 27, 2020 Doubt, old friend.  Welcome home.  Your nest awaits —                                You, alone.  O’ winged devil, Whose shrieks Tear holes in                           Our beliefs. Let not your                        Eyes weep Or your shrill Sounds                cease.   We may chase       ...

August 13, 2020 12:00 AM in Qalqilya I feel my wife tap my shoulder. The way her hands strike with increasing force pulls me quicker from my dreams. Dreams of a time long gone. A time that exists only in                                                                                               fragmented memories. They are not even all my memories. Among my own, min...

  May 3, 2018 I see beauty in wrinkles;  the lines that scar the faces of the elderly.  When I glimpse an elderly lady knitting ferociously, her hands moving in unison, following the patterns they have mastered over years of use, I notice her face. There is a story etched into her body, the tattoos of age. Scars from a life lived: experience, which became memories, which became wisdom. When I see the elderly man drinking coffee with an old friend, I see the beauty of his ancient skin. His eyes peer out onto a familiar world; a world he has watched tear itself apart, mend itself, only to begin tearing at itself again. His face shows the years: the years of war, of joy, of hardship, of love. Memories are carved into his old flesh by the greatest sculptor, Time.  We live in a culture that adores youth. There is an innocence to youth, to be sure. There is unearned confidence, a naïve bravado. In youth, there is hope for the future, unrealized plans. The young look to th...