By Iqbal Tamimi
Your absence creeps up on me,
Peeping through my sleepy eyes,
Yawning from the look of surprise.
Did you return .... to apologize?
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Poetry and Literature
Shut the door behind you
- 24 April 2011
- Iqbal Tamimi
- Hits: 298
Last Updated on Sunday, 24 April 2011 13:00
Murdered by my own ink
- 21 April 2011
- Iqbal Tamimi
- Hits: 276
I am just a number within an army
of unlucky ones,
killed by the poison of their own ink,
and the stupidity of their own fingers
Stones that sprouted legs
- 17 April 2011
- Iqbal Tamimi
- Hits: 417
By Iqbal Tamimi
Written for the memory of my Iraqi colleague
Atwar Bahjat who was killed while reporting from Iraq.
The bed of defeat has always been feminine.
Ever since the sky was within reach
a woman fluffing a wombless vanilla pillow
has given birth to scandals.
The thorns took advantage,
climbing the shoulders of the bare peach,
stealing the bride
whose perfume never swirled in the wind.
The apple went mad,
glued in his grief
to the fingers of his land.
Last Updated on Sunday, 17 April 2011 12:42
Take me home when I’m dead
- 16 April 2011
- Iqbal Tamimi
- Hits: 773
By Iqbal Tamimi
Take me home
When I’m dead
I am crowded by corpses
Occupying me
A long queue of departed loved ones
Are still marching in
One after the other
Changing me from within
While one of my eyes
Is teasing the other
Hiding its despair
Behind my sleep
Take me home to my homeland
Where the houses that lost their doors
Are crouching at the borders,
Waiting to hug their orphaned keys
Take me home when I’m dead
To where the hills are waiting
To clothe me in the bush of thyme,
Or resurrect me an olive tree
Last Updated on Saturday, 16 April 2011 07:06
Happy Palestinian Mothers Day
- 15 April 2011
- Iqbal Tamimi
- Hits: 346
Once upon a time, here was a mother, a child, and there was a green green Palestine, recites Iqbal Tamimi.
Once upon a time
There was a home for every mother
And neighbours used to love each other
Once upon a time
There was a green Palestine
Olive trees were as dear as children
Kissing the braids of the sun
Worried ...not to be uprooted next day
No dime bombs were born yet
No white phosphorus burned our children’s’ smiles
Last Updated on Friday, 15 April 2011 11:30