{ yesterday's tweets. }

( my milkshake brings all the tweets from the yard. )

LoudTwitter, innit?

{ Arkaye Kierulf: Autobiography. }

Autobiography
by Arkaye Kierulf

1.
You could say I grew up in a rough neighborhood: We owned boxing gloves. The red ones I loved, which represented fire and strength. I loved how they looked on me. It was rough because my uncle who lived next door was a blackbelter, and we were born with fists. My brother would wear black gloves and my uncle would be the referee of the two of us. When the fighting went on, we would hide love the best way we could. Everyday it was morning. The chickens my other uncle owned — he also lived next door — would flit and putter in their cage as they watched us step into and out of each other. The chickens had feathers so white you'd think heaven was caged with chicken wire. But they were delicious when cooked. Especially with butter, and with much care.
( continued. )

--

I just read this on greatpoets and now it is in my head.

{ Mahmoud Darwish: Under Siege. }

Under Siege
by Mahmoud Darwish

Here on the slopes of hills, facing the dusk and the cannon of time
Close to the gardens of broken shadows,
We do what prisoners do,
And what the jobless do:
We cultivate hope.

***
A country preparing for dawn. We grow less intelligent
For we closely watch the hour of victory:
No night in our night lit up by the shelling
Our enemies are watchful and light the light for us
In the darkness of cellars.

***
Here there is no "I".
Here Adam remembers the dust of his clay.

***
On the verge of death, he says:
I have no trace left to lose:
Free I am so close to my liberty. My future lies in my own hand.
Soon I shall penetrate my life,
I shall be born free and parentless,
And as my name I shall choose azure letters...

***
You who stand in the doorway, come in,
Drink Arabic coffee with us
And you will sense that you are men like us
You who stand in the doorways of houses
Come out of our morningtimes,
We shall feel reassured to be
Men like you!

( continued. )

{ Rumi: Oh how nameless, how free I am! }

Oh how nameless, how free I am!
by Jalal al-Din Rumi

Oh how nameless, how free I am!
When will I see myself as I really am?

Tell me your secrets here and now, you said.
In this realm, I said, where is the here and now?

How can my soul be still
when I am whirling in stillness?

My sea drowned in itself.
What a wondrous, shoreless sea I am!

Not in this world, not in the next I am.
Where I am, both worlds disappear.

Naught, I am free of profit and loss.
How singular, I neither gain nor lose.

I said: My Soul, you’re the light of my eyes.
Where I am, he said, no need for eyes.

That’s what you are, I said. Stop it!
he said. No words can capture me.

I said: Since you are more than tongue can tell,
behold how eloquent I am without a tongue.

Like the moon, without legs, I race through nothingness.
See how fast I can run without legs!

A voice called: Why so fast?
Look into the hidden, find my true face.

The moment I saw Shams of Tabriz
I became a treasure, a gem, the rare pearl of the sea.

{ Rachel Tzvia Back: Azimuth (IV) }

Azimuth (IV)
by Rachel Tzvia Back

"We travel like other people, but we return to nowhere..."
Mahmoud Darwish

At the Stone of Losses,
another loss.

I, as half-stranger,
am the one who came
to call out the identifying marks
of what had been lost
but instead,
stood on the Stone
silent.

"What happened really happened."

I flew here.

I am the one
who pushed against gravel-

cut wind

sharp and savage
(jagged splinters from the Stone)

to enter the dark
helicopter hull, and forgot
your face immediately.
You who were a step behind.

"What happened really happened.

I believe with perfect faith"

there were stretchers
too heavy to carry,
there were bodies left behind.

Bodies

left behind
on a dark field:

this is a tale
that has never been told.

"I believe with perfect faith
that I will find the strength to believe
that what happened really happened."

( continued. )