Whirlpool

You know that feeling?

That feeling where you find yourself

at night lying on a bed,

head exhausted but body awake -

waiting and craving,

stomach churning with

the urge to regurgitate -

where every part of your being longs

to throw it all up,

to be relieved...

You know that feeling?

That feeling where you find yourself

at night lying on a bed,

head exhausted but eyes awake -

waiting and craving

head a whirlpool swirling with

the urge to weep the well dry -

where every part of your being longs

to un-dam the rushing water,

to be released...

You know that feeling?

Where you keep running to the toilet,

grabbing hold of the cold,

body rocking back

and forth -

okay, at last this is finally it -

gagging,

nothing comes...

over and over,

gagging,

back to bed.

You know that feeling?

I have gotten drunk

off pain - 

drowning in sorrows -

letting the coping moments

of dancing and laughter

prolong the inevitable

urge to get it out of my system,

the physiological poison of pain.

You know that feeling?

There is no vaccine for this virus -

for the symptom of bullets,

for the gut-wrenching gas

with a name that does not do it justice,

like the injustice the “tear gas” brings to our bodies,

to the poison that twists our insides,

gagging and making us cry tears

that stole and hardened our

ability to cry...

But somehow,

we found a way to throw it all up,

drowning in sorrows while laughing.

You know that feeling?

That feeling where you find yourself

at night lying on a bed,

with memories of

what just happened,

head exhausted.

You know that feeling?

I am not weak -

I am sick,

All I want to do is cry...

the medicine of tears

like the release

of disease

from the body.

All I want to do is cry...

You know that feeling?

"Palestine in my Heart" 

- Like the bullet that landed right beside his heart

Us

[Visions of Bethlehem and Jerusalem...

Settlements, Soldiers, Shared and Stolen Spaces,

Spices, Sounds,

Sacred Sin, 

Screams,

Stun Granades, 

Gun Shots

Gas, Shwarma,

Smoke and Storms,

Silence]

I love us!

Like the contradiction

that I love and hate

our love and hate...

It starts with a promise,

that we say began with scripture -

and it does -

it begins with the scriptures of ourselves…

a rainbow in the storm’s sunny sky

reflecting our colours, together

and free.

With the proverbs and verses and psalms,

we write every day.

With meditation and action,

we are alive with prophecy,

we are breathing

holiness -

root word:

full of holes.

With the senses

I know,

my heart beats to the rhythm

of this city;

my soul pulsing with

the mystery of the unknown

and the mess.

Mind muddled, spirit clear.

Church bells radiate,

the muezzin calls us to prayer,

and the God of war -

though all around -

is disobeyed with a smile,

and shared steaming fresh bread.

I love us,

and the way we rise to our addictions,

and shake hands with our enemy.

The way we forgive our abuser,

the way we go to therapy,

walk away,

stay.

I love us,

and the ways we

heal through divorce,

patch the divide,

and the way we

spread like the smokey frankincense.

The way we learn to say ‘no,’

and learn to say ‘yes.’

With my senses

I know,

my heart beats to the rhythm

of this city;

my soul pulsing with

the mystery of the unknown

and the mess.

Mind muddled, spirit clear.

I love us,

herbs and produce our healers,

coffee and cardamom

and the holy spirit alive in our veins,

the stones that hug us in screaming

for freedom by night and

freedom by day.

I love us,

and the way we all love chick peas,

the way history enters the present,

unveils the mask of a fake version of itself

cloaked in the death that he claims,

entering from all sides

to knock down the walls of the present.

I love us,

and the ways that we can do this,

are doing this,

will do this.

The way that we love despite despair,

the way that we find water when we lack,

the way we cuddle no matter what,

the way we still sing in the face of

a soldier aiming at our face, we

look her in the face,

our sister, us.

I love us,

and how our fascist democracies

crawl and creep

on unsteady ground.

We still sow seeds

with roots that go deeper

and will grow taller,

breaking foundations of

toxic gas,

blackened tar.

Our children will break from prison

when heaven cracks the bars

with the vines so strong,

and the earth’s storms that

warn us of our fate

if we do not save our children

from our own hate.

With my senses

I know,

my heart beats to the rhythm

of this city;

my soul pulsing with

the mystery of the unknown

and the mess.

Mind muddled, spirit clear.

Church bells radiate,

the muezzin calls us to prayer,

and the God of war -

though all around -

is disobeyed with a smile

and shared steaming fresh bread.

I love us,

and the ways that

we contradict each other

whilst flowing together.

I love that we teach

ourselves to share,

to laugh,

to play,

to only touch if being nice,

we raise ourselves to be love,

and when still only few remember,

we love again and again,

because this city,

not quite the centre, but believing it is,

holds the truths of love

entangled in the lies of hate.

Revolutions will rise,

will kill, and we will give birth again.

New life will start again.

Ancestors begin with new life,

yet again we pray.

Death will bring life,

like the soil that feeds us

we will grow strong

and beautiful from this,

like the gardens

that grow from

the rocks of a thousand years.

Decay is not a curse,

but a blessing that brings light and life.

It is only sin when it comes to soon…

Let us not hasten decay before its time.

Church bells radiate,

the muezzin calls us to prayer,

and the God of war -

though all around -

is disobeyed with a smile,

and shared steaming fresh bread.