The village managed to reach the front row
And I am busy composing my musical notes
Writing my words
And learning sheer revolutionary ballads by heart
I could not recognize the fourth row
When the female teacher opened my notebook and cried out :
«
And I am busy composing my musical notes
Writing my words
And learning sheer revolutionary ballads by heart
I could not recognize the fourth row
When the female teacher opened my notebook and cried out :
« Go over there,
Where the dirty large room
Awaits your activeness
Since you are the first to arrive »
I was the only one holding the pail and water
Along with the broom
As I was ranked first
And the teacher granted me
A look of recognition for my diligence
And distinguished me from those ranked lower
Thus burdening me with a weight that would weigh me down
But I stood the test ;
I tilled the land as a sign of gratitude
And here I am, still bowing over it
Sowing the jasmine seeds
Over the smell of soil
Where no wheat is there to beam on the bleeding palms
And mourning the land that shakes with chaos and dust
And protruding illnesses
Wiping away tears from its eyes
As if I were a land guardian never blinking
Sweeping the dirty streets clean with my delicate hands
Which are covered with deep wounds
..................
As I was ranked first in class
And afterwards,
I found out that I was still at the first row
Whereas those who had left their garbage in gardens
And thrown away their leftovers over the sick children's heads
Carelessly
Jumped the high queues
And I was left behind, burdened with heavy weights
Passing from lanes
That teem with dry weeds
Where thorns turn out to be delicate
Producing dew in my palms
And blooming with the violet puddings
Grinning to the clear sky
Getting exactly as overjoyed as my heart
That rejoices over the drawn colours and the melodious ballads
That I had learnt by heart
In the first row !
Poetry by Aisha Razem
Read 738 times
Written on 2009-06-21 at 22:43
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And I am busy composing my musical notes
Writing my words
And learning sheer revolutionary ballads by heart
I could not recognize the fourth row
When the female teacher opened my notebook and cried out :
«
Those Jumping the High Queues (Part Two)
The village managed to reach the front rowAnd I am busy composing my musical notes
Writing my words
And learning sheer revolutionary ballads by heart
I could not recognize the fourth row
When the female teacher opened my notebook and cried out :
« Go over there,
Where the dirty large room
Awaits your activeness
Since you are the first to arrive »
I was the only one holding the pail and water
Along with the broom
As I was ranked first
And the teacher granted me
A look of recognition for my diligence
And distinguished me from those ranked lower
Thus burdening me with a weight that would weigh me down
But I stood the test ;
I tilled the land as a sign of gratitude
And here I am, still bowing over it
Sowing the jasmine seeds
Over the smell of soil
Where no wheat is there to beam on the bleeding palms
And mourning the land that shakes with chaos and dust
And protruding illnesses
Wiping away tears from its eyes
As if I were a land guardian never blinking
Sweeping the dirty streets clean with my delicate hands
Which are covered with deep wounds
..................
As I was ranked first in class
And afterwards,
I found out that I was still at the first row
Whereas those who had left their garbage in gardens
And thrown away their leftovers over the sick children's heads
Carelessly
Jumped the high queues
And I was left behind, burdened with heavy weights
Passing from lanes
That teem with dry weeds
Where thorns turn out to be delicate
Producing dew in my palms
And blooming with the violet puddings
Grinning to the clear sky
Getting exactly as overjoyed as my heart
That rejoices over the drawn colours and the melodious ballads
That I had learnt by heart
In the first row !
Poetry by Aisha Razem
Read 738 times
Written on 2009-06-21 at 22:43
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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