Poem: Hands

HANDS

by L.Hashim-AlBayaa

small hands
smudged by hazelnut-filled chocolates
impatiently reach toward the neck of Sittu’s thobe

a leathery henna-stained hand emerges
with unhurried precision
tissue -- all but dissolved in salty wetness is unfolded

revealed
a shekel moist with old woman’s musk

a silent exchange ensues
one calloused hand (were there three fingers or four?)
claims its prize
while the other (this one has five) pours

dark liquid
its dizzying sweetness shocking the nose
flows into a glass no longer clear after three hours of customers

a moment long awaited
the kharoob feels syrupy and thick on the tongue
the day’s heat having leeched out the possibility of refreshing coolness
(that’s okay when life is not known to be refreshing)

(yes, it is four fingers!)

the four-fingered hand retrieves the glass
now not only cloudy, but decorated by chocolate finger prints
(a few more customers’ hands will rub them off)

Sittu smiles
her slow hand reaches down the neck of her thobe to pull out a hard caramel

small hands
in their never-ending search for sweetness
struggle to release the wrapper welded to the caramel by Sittu’s heat
¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬-------------------

trembling leathery hands wipe tears
flowing down a face creviced by memories of small hands
now hidden from sight beneath a white shroud.

Poem: The News (El-Khabr)

The News
by L. Hashim

I should have known by the sudden onslaught of love letters and poems
they were not a manifestation of love
rather a sad attempt at redemption for an undeclared assault

an assault that neither did I see coming nor knew when it had hit
the aim could not have been more direct
in one blow destroying the infrastructure of my life

the timing could not have been more perfect, my love
as I watched Gaza burn in agony
my past obliterated by mortar rounds

you brought your own rounds of mortar and finished the attack
upon my very soul they fell
do I know where Gaza ends and I begin?

Oh cruelest of cruel – is it you or them – or are you the same?
do I know how I feel or how to feel?
my eyes and heart are empty now

do you know your part in this scheme or are you truly so dense?
there is no difference between heart and home
Gaza and I are the same


© 2009 Lamyaa Hashim