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Poem
Too many lives are floating in this flood wave

Mon Ami,

I am honored to be included in your exposition
Theological border walls

You were opening your glittering purse, 
A set of cloth line clips,

I was gazing there
From a distance
I wish I could tell you, it seemed to me 
A clipped bordered page of a bible
That I saw last Sunday
A church sister was holding that scripture.

Do you need characters?
Reliable narrators of life?
Happening quite often?
That can be a simile of ongoing events?
Events happening in the here and now?

The gifts that served the neighborhood grace
The grace that those clips cherished
Did those include my mother’s seasoned hands?
She used to wash cloths, her cotton saris
Prayer gowns with her own hands.

Or my brother’s miswak?
The way he used to wipe his head, during ablution , around the designated time?

I kept my good wishes , 
In every threads of your gifted sari
Neatly folded, in a courteous way.

And it kept me ongoing
In my midnight
Less fortunate life
Another breast feeding storytime.
Did I need me there?

Your clips, your red-colored credit card
And a burning fireball in an once existing 
Neighborhood abode.

Does it bother you, anyhow, anyway?

Thinking about my next storyline
Will you be interested to join the literary meetup?

A burning hell in the occupied Gaza territory
Palestine,
Where death brags in every household
A nightmare, in a nightmare landmark.

Within, there too
Hearts ponder and thriving colors unfold.

Domestic lives, in domesticity of tranquility
And after a long day ,
The lover poet observes
The hands engaged in cooking chores
An apt feminine hand 
A saga of beauty 
An epic of beauty in trivialities of life

A kissing moment , before
A sudden, gruesome death.

And I, a terrified and troubled one
Sustain there, gradually
And try to console myself
Days have passed by , before 
You watched another movie in theater.

A can of coke, a Fanta or a Pepsi bottle
Your lips, a lifetime touched in tangentiality.

So, then your next prompt will be a research topic with a garbage disposal bag?

For a poem? For a poet?
Where the warmth within the domesticity
Thrive in a lit ribbon,
Makes a vibrant color.

Do you need me there to be focused more
In black and white, only?

Where you will gather your borderline clipping moments?

And your utterance, only you
Will utter in remembrance?

Too many lives are floating in this flood wave!

August 28, 2022
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