Hezbollah Funeral

I visited Lebanon in 1996 with my husband. I was a new bride, barely twenty, and this was my first trip out of North America. My husband was older than me and due to the wars, had not been back to see his parents for nearly 10 years. They were ecstatic to see him and greeted me warmly with great affection.

It was a “dangerous time” for an American, and my family did not want me to go. But it was a quiet time relative to all that has happened there.

One of the first things we did was visit the mass grave site in Qana, where Israel had massacred more than 100 civilians months before. I had never seen anything like it. The UN had taken pictures, and they were horrific. There were mementos still up of all the victims, but there were also pictures of UN Soldiers holding up various body parts, afterwards. One soldier held up a leg. Another held the severed-off top of a child’s body. Many of the victims were children, and I remember all the teddy bears lined up on the grave like a nursery.

A relative drove us into the area of Hezbollah where they used to be prohibited. We couldn't go all the way because the soldiers warned us of bombings. So we went up through villages of destroyed homes and Hezbollah flags.

We went to another southern area where the soldiers stopped us. It's too close to the border, my husband said, and so primarily black, presumably African UN soldiers stood at checkpoints with wide smiles and friendly English. Their looks were so different from the black men I saw holding up legs and arms in disgust, putting babies into bags that were too big.

We saw three Irish UN soldiers who joked with me about it not being safe to eat sunglasses. I was gnawing anxiously on my husband’s glasses. I hated to drive there, especially on narrow, winding rocky roads where life means close to nothing. My husband would point to areas on top of mountains and say, "Israel is there" and after 20 days, I had to tell myself to feel nothing.

I had never experienced fighter jets above my head constantly, and I asked his family, Why don’t you just shoot them down? In America, we would never stand for that! We would just shoot them down and it would be done.

They said they could not do that.

Further into our visit, another boy was killed randomly by Israel, and we decided to go to the funeral. My mother-in-law gave me a head scarf to cover up my hair, and we went down with another relative to a mass of people. Mourners came from villages all around, swarming to the funeral. There were thousands of people there, many of whom were Hezbollah, and I worried that Israel would bomb us all while we were standing out there so vulnerable. If they could kill children, they certainly would have no qualms about killing me or anyone else. I kept looking at the sky nervously.

This boy was a hero for them. A dark eyed, beautiful child, not more than 15. His only crime was being in the wrong place at a terrible time. The Hezbollah marched in front shouting and hitting their chests. My husband said they were saying they would love to die as him, for God, for Lebanon. Other men marched behind quietly. Fewer women followed.

My husband brought me to the dug out grave while they marched. Near the front, they held up his body, wrapped in a yellow Hezbollah flag. Behind that, a man held up a huge picture of the teen before his death. At the top of the hill, in the home of the boy’s mother, women wailed. The noise was hard to bear. Not the stifled cries you hear at an American funeral, but the gut-wrenching wails and screams from deep within. I will never forget their wailing. I can still hear it in my head, and after having two of my own children, the pain and understanding has only intensified. I stood there, unable to move, sobbing.

After a while the procession began again back to the Mosque. We had to be careful of our place because my husband and I needed to stay together, but we were separated by gender. We stood in between the men and women, right next to the boy's grandfather and his mother, an oddly intimate location within a family we didn’t even know. When the women began to weep again by the grave, my husband started too. He held his face in his hands and tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t. I felt choked, but wouldn't let myself cry again. I might not stop.

Men read the Qur’an, separated again by gender. The men inside the graveyard, the women outside the stones. All but two women were scarved. My husband got mad at them. No respect, he said.

When it was over, we drove back to our village. My head was exploding with thoughts. The blown-out house next-door to my in-laws home, where they used to live. All the pictures and memories that had been lost. The bullet hole scar in my husband’s arm from the day Israeli soldiers opened fire on his school. The family of his best friend they killed that day, who had lost their son at only 8-years-old. The father who sat there sobbing when he saw my husband, now a grown man. The difficulty to forgive people in my own life, who had done so little to me in comparison. And the enormity of even beginning to heal any of this and move forward into a peaceful and prosperous new beginning.

Anger

I am feeling very angry lately, nearly all the time, at my ex.

On one hand, I feel like life keeps getting better and better. I have many relationships that I get a lot of satisfaction from and that I am very grateful for.

I have been able to spend a lot of time with my grandmother - more than I thought I would have several weeks ago. I am trying to stop by there every day.

My grandmother amazes me. She is so damned tough.

I also must say that my uncle has amazed me. He has truly risen to the occasion and given her the best care anyone could ever imagine. I have stereotyped alcoholics a lot lately. And he is certainly an alcoholic. But he has been able to put that aside and really, really care for her the way she needs to be cared for and the way she deserves. I am so grateful that he is there with her at all times. I have not seen anyone give the level of care that he has given her. It is truly heartwarming.

It reminds me that we do all have a choice. He certainly could have dug his head in the sand, drank too much, and ignored my grandma's needs - and in typical alcoholic fashion felt sorry for himself. I always worried when I was married to J, that if anything ever happened to me, he would never have it in him to take care of me. I still feel that very strongly to this day.

I am done with most of my grieving and sadness. Several weeks ago that had completely consumed me. There were days where I spent nearly the entire day crying. Her death seemed so completely unfair to me. It seemed too early.

She did not want that from any of us. And she has told me as much many times. I really had to get a grip on myself. You can't just bury your emotions - I don't believe that is good. But I did need to work through them in order to get where we are now. I feel like now we can just enjoy each other. And even though she is sick and there are things we have discussed that are sad, I always look forward to my time with her.

For the last 6 years she has lived less than 10 minutes away from my house. But I really took that for granted. I felt like she was my young and healthy grandma and I would have at least 20 more years to spend with her.

It occurred to me today that we take life for granted here so much. We assume, like I did, that we are entitled to so much time with our parents or grandparents, and life promises us nothing.

At the same time, we are so flip about our policies in this country, which cause the premature death to millions around the world. It is so hypocritical really.

I have always known this on some level, but today it really hit me. Perhaps because today is the anniversary of the Sabra And Shatila massacres. (If you don't know what this is, and most Americans seem not to, there is a good article at www.countercurrents.org - Remembering Sabra And Shatila by Sonja Karkar).

In any case, this flipness is one of the things that enrages me about my ex.

The fact that he's this spoiled little rich boy who invents problems like drugs and drinking too much while there is an entire world out there that is suffering - and many times they are suffering as a result of our own excesses and fucked up policies.

He made a flip comment the other week about how a lot of people are having financial problems right now.

That just infuriated me.

Yes, this is true. Our economy is really screwed up right now and there are millions and millions of people who are barely hanging on by a thread.

But here he is with every resource in the world - a wealthy family, connections, a good job, an inheritance, and on and on and on....

He chose to stop working - for years - because he didn't fucking feel like it. Work was beneath him. It was more important for him to get high, to get drunk and to fuck random women than to take care of his family. He made a conscious choice to fuck over his family. He will always be fine because his family will always be right there to bail him out. He will always have a huge inheritance to bank on. But I don't have that.

And now, not only does he take zero responsibility, or try to fix it, he tries to put himself in the same category with people who truly did not have a choice or any other options.

It is sickening. He makes me sick.

I have developed a hernia and not been doing my Kundalini Yoga for the last month. I notice a huge difference in my anger level. That seemed to release a lot for me. So I think I will get back to that. I'd rather pop my hernia out than feel this constant anger eating at my soul.

I am really regretting the day we ever had sex, the day we got married, the first day that I ever put up with any of his bullshit.

I should have walked so long ago. I can't get that time back. It is gone. Just like my grandma's time is nearly up. I am glad that I have more choices than she had in her day. I don't have to stay married to an alcoholic for 36 years. But it still burns. It is a bitter poison that I live with every day. How I wish I could be rid of it. How I wish I had made better choices years ago. Perhaps I am most angry at myself. But I still resent him so much, and I don't know if I will ever get past that.

Some Thoughts on Death

Another day at the hospital with my grandmother and her death is bringing up so many things for me.

My husband has tried to be very supportive of me and I appreciate that. But I can not help but remember how he responded while my grandpa was dying.

I thought I had gotten over that, but I have not. I still am resentful. I think, why is he suddenly being so nice now when we are nearly divorced? But years ago, when I was his wife, who had been with him through the recent death of his mother, bore him 2 children and suffered a miscarriage - in the midst of caring for my dying grandfather - and he told me to "Get off the cross - someone needed the wood."

Yesterday a woman that I adore from church, who is much older than me and has known my grandparents for 30 years, told a story that also probably brought back that memory.

She talked about how after her second divorce, she decided to rename herself. And she took away her middle and last names, and gave herself the middle name of the daughter she had miscarried and a new last name.

It was a beautiful name.

That resonated so well with me. I still think about that child a lot, and to me, she was a girl, and she would have been named Grace.

My grandmother and I spoke today about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan today and their utter meaninglessness to both of us - and that was another resentment that came up for me strongly. We here in the United States cling on to our own lives so dearly. We will do anything to avoid dying. And yet we seem to have no problem with the deaths of "others" who we perceive to be so different from us.

I remember when I was in Lebanon, one of the hardest things for me to deal with was the death of my first husband's childhood best friend. He was only 8-years-old when the Israeli soldiers killed him.

I will never forget going to his parents home with H. The way his father sobbed. And then I sobbed, and H sobbed. But I could not stop.

I remember that my sister-in-law came to me in my room after hours of this. She took me square by the shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Everyone dies. Everyone dies."

I have never forgotten those words. I have never forgotten how senseless his death felt. And I think if more Americans saw that, they would realize that war is never a good idea.

My sister-in-law's words have carried me through a lot of deaths though over the years. And she was right about that. We have a culture here in the US that does not acknowledge or accept death. But death is inevitable for all of us.

The combination of the fear of death and medicine for profit is a very bad mix.

I also spoke to my grandma about my other grandma today. I spoke to her at length last night. She told me again that she plans to just be here and happy with all of us one week and be "gone" the next. She refused chemotherapy or any other treatment. She just wants to be as healthy as possible naturally as long as she can and then she will chose her time.

My grandma thought that was horrible, but I relate to that more. I don't want to live on 15 medications on a good day. That is not life. My grandma is nearly 93-years-old. Some of the things they are suggesting for her are insane. That's not even humane in my mind. But she is afraid. And fear makes for good profits.

The only conclusions I can draw is that all of us have worth. And, we all die.

I adore both my grandmothers. I adore that boy that died just from the words of his family and the love of that first husband had for him.

None of us has greater or lesser worth. The death of one person is just as painful for their loved-ones as my grandmothers deaths will be for me.

There is no sense in death. You just have to make peace with it.

And I can accept the deaths of the matriarchs of my family. But I know how hard for me it has been to lose a child that essentially never even existed. I have never been able to make peace with wars that kill children who do.

Overnight

We left late afternoon yesterday for the home of my ex-husband. H. is in Africa on business, so we have been spending more time with his family. His children are very similar ages to my children - his youngest and my youngest are only 3 weeks apart, so we were pregnant at the same time together. They are the closest thing to cousins my children have.

His wife is like a sister to me and their children like nephews. I am so fortunate to have them in my lives, which is becoming increasingly hard for my husband and his family to understand.

My husband now thinks that I want my ex-husband back, which could not be further than the truth.

Yes, I will always love H. Deeply. But he is more like a brother to me, and his wife a sister. I have regrets over my own stupidity during our relationship, but I don't have regrets over the friendship I share with him and his family now. Everything is as it should be.

We stayed up late and talked like teenage girls. It was just what I need right now. This is the 4th overnight I have spent with either my sister or friends during break. I realized last night how much I love to have other people around me. I have been so alone and isolated. It has felt so good to hold my girlfriends close to me, instead of having to leave for one reason or another.

It amazes me that H. came here to US with no money and not speaking English. (He speaks Arabic and French). When I met him, he worked at Dunkin Donuts full-time (we actually met there) and worked two other menial jobs. He never took any money from his family - everything he has is from his own two hands.

He started college and several businesses while we were married. While he is not "rich", I'd consider him a complete success. His wife and children want for nothing.

It amazes me that my in-laws look down on Arabs and "poor" people and yet they have no problem with the condition of the lives of their own grandchildren. It's not how much you have, it is how you provide for your family.

I wonder if they know that it was H and his wife that would loan me money when my husband did not provide - while they were out golfing and playing tennis without worries and I was there working 60 hours a week and taking care of a newborn. I wonder if they know how many times H and his wife came to help me in the middle of the night, when I was sobbing. That is no life for a child. I think that without them, many times, I would have completely lost hope.

The way my in-laws and my husband have treated me is inhumane. But my ex-husband, his family, his wife and her entire family have all taken me in and loved me. Her sisters have offered to help, her family supports my business, and they both give me constant encouragement and love. That is family.

Sometimes I think coming from a rich family (especially if it is dysfunctional and addicted) is much more of a hindrance than coming from nothing. When you do it on your own, you appreciate it. And, you don't take your family for granted.

Preferences

Apparently my in laws are upset by a recent blog post to our family blog about my former in-laws. They told my husband that I seem to like this other family better than them.

Well duh!

Who wouldn't prefer kindness to dry drunks?

Who prefers cheap Indian-givers to generous people who would give anything or do anything for their family?

Who prefers being called poor and stupid to being loved and cherished?

Everything is always about them. Maybe they should realize that aside from their money, they have nothing to offer anyone. If they want people to truly "like" them, they should treat people decently.

Of course I prefer people who have never even tasted alcohol to people who drank away my husbands childhood.

When you are sober you can actually raise 7 amazing children very well, even in a war zone. It's not that hard. Just stay present and put the fucking bottle down.

My former in-laws had their house destroyed, faced constant death, had their son shot at in his school...I could go on and on. They had actual problems that they overcame - and managed to still be amazingly nice people.

(And, no, I do not consider having a lush life in the US and drinking too much to be an actual problem. It causes problems for other people. Addiction it is a chosen problem which the addict can change.)

I have thought through this and none of my former husband's family has ever had a problem with addiction. Not his parents, his 6 brothers and sisters, their children, aunts and uncles... You could go on and on. For the most part, no one has ever even tried alcohol. So this is a shout out to Muslim families. Complete abstinence works. And if you have a strong family it is possible that none of your seven children will be addicts of any sort. (Even after suffering immense hardships that would be hard to fathom in this country.)

Within days of arriving to Lebanon, H's grandma sat me on her lap and told me I love you just as much as I love H. You are now a daughter to me. All of his family treated me that way.

And they still do.

So, YES, I prefer my former in-laws. If you want me to like you better, treat me better!

Remembering Lebanon

I just got off the phone with my ex-husband's wife. We talked for more than an hour. My daughter fell asleep on the way to school this morning, so I turned around and went home after we dropped my son off. Turns out that was a good choice. She obviously does not feel well. We are spending a quiet day together.

My ex-husband and his wife just came back from a long trip to Lebanon, where they are both originally from. Her parents had come to my office yesterday and told me they were back, so I decided to check on them.

It sounds like they had a wonderful trip. I wish I had been able to go with them. Yesterday, her parents offered to take me, and today she offered me to come with her this summer.

How I miss Lebanon.

Americans seem to wonder why the Lebanese and the Palestinians fight so hard for their land. If they had been there, they would know.

It is beautiful in Lebanon. And the people are the best of the best. There is no place more hospitable, filled with love and laughter. I have never seen children so happy and well-behaved. They are free to run around the village without care, because everyone watches out for everyone else. The high school kids are smarter than most college graduates I know. Most people speak Arabic, French and English, and the children study psychology, literature, mathematics in all three languages, which is different than just taking a French or English class.

The people of Lebanon are very present. Perhaps because they have lost so much. When I went in '95-'96, Israel was still bombing nearby. My ex-husband is from a small village in the South of Lebanon. I remember being scared many times, but after a while, you get used to it. There is no place I have enjoyed traveling to more than Lebanon. It touched my soul.

I have noted to myself many times lately that since I met my current husband, I have essentially stopped traveling - at least abroad. I really want to change that. There is always so much drama involved in alcoholic families. I feel like I have missed many things. My ex-husband's 40th birthday party. A retirement party for my greatest mentor. Party after party that I was too emotionally exhausted to attend. Looking back, I wish I would have done all of it anyway. What was accomplished by me staying home, besides another defeat?

I enjoyed hearing all the stories of the people I love back in Lebanon. My sister-in-law just lost her husband. I remember them well from when I was there. He had a brain tumor then. It is amazing, really, that he made it this long. They have 7 or 8 children. Most people in Lebanon have big families. Family is everything.

We talked about the traditions of death in Lebanon. I remember going to a funeral while I was there. A young boy was killed by Israel during my stay. Nearly everyone from all surrounding villages stopped what they were doing and drove to his village for the funeral. There must have been thousands of people there. I will never forget the sound of the women wailing, screaming really, at the top of their lungs, with all of their hearts and souls.

I think I understand those screams even more now that I have my own children. The grief is unimaginable.

But I think that wailing is good for the soul. In America, death is often skipped over. In Lebanon, the family is in mourning for 40 days. The widow is never left alone. There are usually about 10 people with her at all time, to care for her needs and give her company. Every day, the entire family visits the graveside for 40 days.

I think that is beautiful. His wife told me, "one of the things I like most about our culture is that we make everyone feel so special." I think she really nailed it on the head.

Yesterday, her parents visited me at my office and brought donuts and special Lebanese pastries. My entire office was thrilled.

My daughter's namesake lives in the South of Lebanon. She is one of my ex-husband's many aunts. I remember being instantly taken with her. She is everything I would want my daughter to be - smart, always laughing, and has a very strong sense of self. Her spirit was beautiful and amazing.

I decided when I met her that I would name my daughter after her - even though I was no where close to having a daughter then. I married my first husband very young. I was still in college and wanted to finish my Masters degree first. The Masters degree was one of several things that killed our marriage - but primarily, it was my youth.

My ex-husband handled our divorce with so much grace. One of the best gifts that he ever gave to me, when I was feeling guilty about many things, was to tell me, "Despite everything, you are still the best person I have ever known." I will never forget those words, and he will never know how much they meant to me coming from him. When I am feeling low, I still can hear him telling me that, and it still helps tremendously.

I sent pictures of my daughter to show the family and especially her namesake. She was very pleased with them and sent my daughter back a dress. On Saturday we will go visit them and get it. It sounds like they brought back many gifts, which is traditional. I am looking forward to seeing their entire family. I miss all of them. They will always be my family.

The wife asked about my marriage and I told her. She said, I will never get over the time we came to your house in the middle of the night after your son was born. Right then I knew it was bad, and I wondered what was wrong with him.

I remember that night well. My son and I had just came home from the hospital. He started crying, sometimes screaming, non stop for hours. I was exhausted and did not know what to do. My husband was no where to be found. He would not return calls. Finally I called my ex-husband and his wife, who just lived down the street at the time. By then it was close to mid-night, but they came over immediately anyway. They stayed with me for hours until my son was settled and back to sleep. I will always be grateful to both of them for that. It was one of the worst and loneliest nights of my life.

Dinner with the Ex

I have been reflecting a lot on my previous marriage, and all that has transpired since then. I married very young to a Lebanese Shia Muslim, coming from a sheltered conservative Christian background. I often wonder if that alone didn't ruin us. But there were a lot of obstacles. His temper. My youth. Working too hard to get ahead.

In any case, I now count H as one of my dearest friends. His wife is also extremely close to me and I adore his children. He married his current wife when she was very young, and for a long time I was careful not to say anything that might make her jealous. But much time has passed, and we are all in a very good spot now where we have freedom to speak our mind, and even to joke about things, past and present. And I think what has come out of all of this has truly been remarkable in every way.

I know that not everyone chooses to remain close to their ex. Especially when there are no children and there is no need to. But I feel that H will forever remain a part of me, and that I owe him so much for who I have become. Not to say that it did not take work, but it was worth it for the relationship that all of us have today.

Last night, I joined them at their home for dinner. I brought a cake that my daughter and I made for his wife. She recently had her appendix out and while she was sitting in the hospital she said she was craving this cake that I make, and asked me if I would make her one.

So we decided to cook Lebanese food together, which is something we both enjoy. We decided earlier this year that we both cook better together than apart. I think part of it is that we just enjoy each other's company so much.

So I arrived late in the afternoon with my kids and we let them play, while we opened a bottle of wine and started cooking and talking about life. H came in and out of the room, and joined us later for the meal.

We talked about how when we were younger, we were both more jealous, but as we have grown up we have become less so. We talked about our marriages, and in-laws and our children.

They said that they both had noticed when they saw me last week that I have been happier and lighter lately than I have been for a while. I told them that I had decided that no matter what, I am going to laugh and be happy, because whether things work out or they don't, or I have money, or anything else, I have to get through my days, and I may as well laugh.

We talked about how when you have children with someone, you are forever bound to that person, whether you are married or not - so you may as well make the most of it and try to get along. Her parents and I had a similar conversation earlier in the day at my office. They are jokesters and have 5 children, so they both said that is what had happened to them, that they were stuck with each other because of the children!

Interestingly, H also has a very difficult struggle with his in-laws, for different reasons. We talked about that a little bit too. I can see why he has the struggle, but I also see them different because they are not my in-laws and I deal with them on a different level. It's funny how you relate to people different depending on how you have to relate to them. I'm sure some people can get along fine with my father-in-law - so long as the relationship does not depend on his need to control their life.

One thing that I have always felt as I have moved on in my life is that I could have made my first marriage work, if I had given it some time. I don't have regrets over that now. It is what it is, and I don't think things could have worked out more beautifully than they have. But it does make me approach my current marriage different than perhaps someone else from the outside might.

I remember I was a point, I was a circle

I remember
I was
a point, I was a circle,
I walked
The swords are porous green.
I fell, to the edge of a whitened eyelash,
I laughed, to the edge of death I laughed.
I remember I was a glass that breaks the water, stretched out across a cloud,
I remember I was a butterfly,
despair began to spread like darkness, bullets began to make shadows, pointed shadows.

He is your blue-colored shirt, my cup and fork, my
balcony, the din of silence in the void, my closed eyelids,
the bird that shall bear me to the grave, he is the grave.

How often they have wrangled with mountains on my lips. Hands
that burn are extinguished in wine, rivers that run dry are pinned
to the walls, parched earth tries to imprison
your voice,
your voice.

Have you the courage to dance on a mirror? have you more
strength than the brilliance of a bee upon its knees, than
the kiss of pearls shoulder to shoulder?

Do you spell out tears as I set forth a tree?
From the ledge of each well, pots of hyacinth fly
in all directions. As though temples exploding, they
cross the marble to the final star, like the grasses
that glitter in a pebble. I watch her veiling herself,

On my clothes I write God, I write heaven.
This is me. And this is you.

Like one who lives on a seesaw, I live in the pupil of your eye.
Come morning you destroy me like an arrow, come evening
I yield to you, without a struggle I turn to dust. I say he is a mountain that bears a city, I say he is a horse that gallops in the sun.

Like one who lives in deceit, I stone myselfand call for help
Is there a terror greater than veiled fear, than
a deserted evening, than feet that tread on heaven,
than waves sketched like rainfall, than signs of thunder,than a cage without a bird, a bird without wings, wings
without love, without love?

From your two hands I gather tenderness at night,
from your two hands I grant a smile to each star, from your two hands I bury my head on your breast, from your two hands I search for my prayer.

I draw halos around you, as if you are the foe, as
if you are the Messiah. If you were alone, I tell you, I would
prostrate myself you you. If just ten, I would hide you in my lungs.
Since you are a thousand, I shall give you to drink from my blood. Your wound grows and grows.
it slits my throat from vein to vein. I put sand in your
wound. I put your wound in a giant, and around myself I
light the fire.

Who are you, that I should love you in the space I love you, in
the wound?
The stones are whispering:
There is no myth save in a wrestling goddess, a moon fragmenting. The statues are countless, beyond all computation. The poison is a singledose placed in a cup.
I pluck suns from between your eyes, I pluck thorns

-Orbits, be scattered beyond time, beyond weapons, beyond vipers, Bein harmony with the strength of gods, with mercy like the gods, with optimism like the gods, Upon the trackless sand each teardrop has a garden, the birds a small handful of honey.

Here am I bending down to drink and I lose my memory.

I have not let my face leap like a bat, I have not kicked my foot, I did not move like phantoms over the rooftops, I did not steal the sea's wings,I did not break glass over a breast, I have not withdrawn into despair, I did not go mad in gathering honey,

I did not go mad, I did not go mad, I did not go mad.

No need for the flanks of suffering, for my armor

A ship carries us to the end of the world.
Rivers push us seaward. A destiny in which I dress. Nets by which I am woven. Statues I destroy. A debt I pay. Flocks of birds.

A disaster. An earthquake. Travel. Return.

Return. Return. Return.

Forgive me O Lord!

a shore gathering pearls, a white horse enfolding me and taking wing, a bird that immolates me as I am warmed by its eyes, eyes in which I pray and weep, my ribs that are translucent, trees of emerald, the rose of compassion above unity,the dissension of daybreak's crown, the willfulness of nightly grandeur,the sanctity of pain, roses raining down,

him, him, him

I grasp the wave and I tumble

A divine vigilance in my eyes?

I leave at your door the burnt moments of time, the sunset, the harvestof error, and endless slipping, the grasp of truth, ingots of gold, faces of those who have died, faces of those who will die, footsteps of the prophets, shadows of the priests, the thinness of words, the misfortuneof the world, the secrets of the fields,

my love for you, your hatred for me,
and the white lilies
and the white lilies.

I grasp the wave and I tumble...
I remember I was a point, I was a circle.

Hoda Al-Namani
partially translated from the Arabic by Tim Mitchell

(The full poem was not reprinted here - because of the layout of the blog, the poem may not be layed out properly either. If you can find it online, I highly recommend reading the entire poem. It's a favorite.)