Poem to an Islamic Angel

Poem to an Islamic Angel
Your wings above the city of my heart
looked familiar to me,
Probably because
I had seen them in another life,
But like all things
I passed away.
What happens when the earth trembles,
When there is no more fruit
On the trees?
Turning your face softly, you heard…
The children crying,
The doctors sighing,
The amputees trying,
And the poets dying…
And willingly gave them hope,
A meal eaten,
A rock to pick up
And throw—a rock
Of wishes, a rock of hunger,
Aspiration and longing, propelled
With a stinging accuracy
By the fierce song
In your heart
As you cherished them all and felt…
The hearts breaking,
The thieves taking,
The dispossessed aching,
And the politicians faking…
And through the sum total, we found that evil has a skull
The shape of a football with grimacing lips.
So look to that place
Where the astral twinklings
Romp and play—noticeable tinges
Of color sprouting into flowers,
Puffing into nothingness,
And lo and behold
Blooming into flowers again.
And from here you tasted…
The blood flowing…
The farmers hoeing
The proud crowing
And the mystics knowing…
You are the Beloved
To the children, a ship
Trailing its wind
On a sea of
Tangerine and gold
Toward he whom the earth
Fears and loves, as,
With an inimitable patience,
You raised that flower-pointed
Arrow—your eyes of love—and saw…
The stars shining…
The vines twining…
The petals falling…
And the dove calling out…
To heaven above.

River to Sea Uprooted Palestinian

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