Palestinian Superman

Bed & Home

2008-07-15T12:26:00.000-07:00

(by Saed J. Abu-Hijleh, Nablus, Palestine, July 15, 2008)

In communion with the One
that created the 100 billion galaxies
containing hundreds of billions of stars;
In the presence of the One that heals
all wounds that turn into scars:

Only He can hear my voice in the place
Where my dreams begin and end,
Where my face is not shown
under embroidered covers
in my sacred bed
in the darkness of moonless nights
before or after the soldiers
enter my neighborhood or the refugee camp
across the hill.

*******

My home is the dream of my Dad,
the place in which I am sane or
when I am mad
without anyone seeing me
except the One that sees all.

My home is Love and the product of Love;
my neighbors are imperfect angels
who care about me
and want me to get married
and settle down
and stop being an international clown.

My home is in fifteenth street
in a city that lies between two mountains
channeling the breeze of the Mediterranean
to eastern dry lands
of prophets and nomads.

My home is under a dome
of mystic words
on the path of Sufi masters
to the land of bliss
where love burns all sins…

Snapshot!

2008-07-14T07:06:00.000-07:00

by Saed J. Abu-Hijleh, Nablus, Palestine, July 14, 2008

He snapped his fingers and the other one shot,
All of what it is became what is not,
Love became hate, life became death,
As Mother of All let out her last breath…
All of humanity froze,
The "Iron Fist" killed the most beautiful rose…
A surgeon of Ear, Throat, and Nose,
Stood by and watched the love of forty years
End in a river of tears…

+++++++

A shooting star is quite far
Yet it makes the heart move
With hope
With desire…
How can a distant fire
Calm the fire inside?!
How can a single fish bring down the tide?

No where to hide
Time to respond:
Close your eyes
Count to seven
A 'shooting heart'
From earth to heaven.

+++++++

He shook my hand for the first time
Few of his fingers were missing
Compensated by a beautiful smile
The kind that makes you go the extra mile…

A year later his arm was missing
The beautiful smile remained
The more he lost
The more we gained!

Fadi is now all missing
Entered earth on a journey
To the other side
But he left his smile engraved on my mind...

Poetry !

2008-07-10T00:42:00.000-07:00

I write to tell my soul that you have the possibility of not being alone. I write to allow my inner voice to come out, so I can see it, touch it, and maybe understand it. I write so as to feel the limits of my being and to see where it intersects with other beings, somewhat like Venn diagrams. I write to allow the air to come in to my hidden wounds to avoid spiritual gangrene. I write to find love; to find my soul mate…

It happened for the first time almost thirty years ago, at the age of 11. I was laying in my bed just about to sleep, and then suddenly sat and received few words. I say 'received' because I am not sure I had total control over the process that brought these words to my tongue and lips:

I will read and dissolve in the meaning of reading,
I will write and dissolve my ideas in the tunes of my poetry,
And I will sing for the joyful nightingale to forget my sorrows…
And I will be happy for death is the wedding of every human being…

It felt good, magical, unexplainable… where exactly did these words come from, and how did they surface or appear suddenly to the realm of consciousness…

Now after so many years, I say that these words were brought to me by the flicker of wings of a mystical butterfly, and my young soul resonated with the waves…

Many things happened since then… and I moved from the land of boyhood to the domain of men… too soon I must add,
And events that occurred almost made me mad…
Three bullets hit me when I was fifteen,
The pain was unbearable,
Difficult for you to know what I mean…
I was tortured on my wounds when I was sixteen,
They whipped with electrical wiring,
Put me in a room full of sewage,
But I came out clean!

Many things happened since then, in the 70s, 80s, 90s, and in 2010...
The future is already here…
This might sound crazy or queer…
I write to calm my fear
Of history repeating itself,
And that I won't have enough stitches for new wounds,
Or strong legs faster than bullets,
And seconds that last longer than minutes…!

A State of Love

2008-06-19T23:44:00.001-07:00

One state, two states, or no state,
Zionism, what a fate...
They caught the bait, and continued the hate,
Can they keep this rate... of ethnic cleansing!

Israel the "Jewish State", 60 years too late...
In the Middle East "the only democracy",
What a hypocrisy!
Can't they see our blood filling the Jordan River?
A wound oozing forever!

A State of Love the only solution,
Yes we say to spiritual cleansing,
No we say to ethnic cleansing,
"All in and no one out" at the top of my lungs I shall shout...
Refugees must come back, a just society with no doubt.

One State, No hate,
A State of Love,
Blessed from the above...
The children dance, happy in a trance,
This is our last chance...

Shadow of an olive tree....

2008-05-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

I am a Shadow of an olive tree
On the land of thee
I am waiting for you to come to me
I then shall cease to be
Remember me my love, remember me...

Sixty Years and Counting!

2008-05-16T13:10:00.000-07:00

Commemorating sixty years of the Palestinian Nakba (catastrophe)(1948-2008)

Sixty years and counting,
Anger in my being is mounting.

Sixty years and counting,
The child in me is shouting:
I want to run, to fly, to sing, to cry,
To walk, talk, write on the blackboard with a chalk:
"End this bloody occupation..."

Sixty years and counting!
Nablus the city of goodness,
A wounded witness to this “bloody occupation...”

No need for wake up calls,
The tanks come on time,
Go on time,
And leave you no time to plan your time…
But can these tanks kill the thyme… of Ebal and Jirzim?

Kneel to these monsters they tell us everyday,
But only to Allah we kneel when we pray,
Another sixty thousand years will not change what I say.

Tanks do not grow on mountains but olives do.
Tanks do not grow on mountains but Palestinians do.
I am an olive and my blood is oil,
My flesh is this sacred soil,
My breath the wind of the Mediterranean,
My eyes make the sea blue.

Sixty years and the fascist can go to hell,
The mosque will say Allah Akbar,
The Church will ring its bell.

Five (A poem by Saed J. Abu-Hijleh)

2007-11-04T22:18:00.000-08:00

October 11, 2007
(On the Fifth Anniversary of the Assassination of Martyr Shaden Abdel Qader Al Saleh Abu-Hijleh)

Five…..
Fifteen bullets came out from the beehive
Stung me in the heart
Left me with an endless wound in open air
Five years and the pain is still there…

“Give me a Five” the killer told his partner
“We killed her….”
Blood dripping from his smile
“We killed her and killed her Five!”
“Will they survive?”

One husband and four children are still alive!
Death was not an option after her death
They had to tell her story to a world that is deaf:
If sounds of bullets were not enough
If screams of pain and anger
Mocked by Israeli soldiers’ laughter
Do not make the deaf hear
Then we will etch our souls on hearts made of stone
Hoping the marks will tell the story we want to tell
About a saintly woman who rang the bell
Against the oppression of Israeli hell

Five is the number of fingers on her hand
Each were pointing to the homeland
Five her senses were:
She saw the rainbow arching over our lives
She smelled the wind of the Mediterranean
She touched our souls with her kindness
She tasted her food so that we can enjoy the taste
She heard the voice coming from within and acted with grace
But her sixth was the strongest: she knew!
And her dreams & nightmares always came true!

The Ten Commandments of Israel are now Five:
Thou shall Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill, and Kill
Palestinian blood thou shall spill, spill, spill, spill, and spill

The Commandments of Shaden are now Five:
Thou shall Love, Love, Love, Love, and Love
Every year add more Love to my Love

The followers of Shaden are now more than Five
An army of lovers that shall strive
To liberate Earth from oppression
This is their sworn mission
A war of attrition
Israeli Apartheid will not survive

Five Salaams on your soul
Mama Shaden mother of all
Mama Shaden mother of all…

Shaden Abu-Hijleh is a Palestinian peace activist assassinated by the Israeli Army on October 11, 2002; you can visit the website in her memory on: www.remembershaden.org

On the Altar of Love

2007-02-25T12:31:00.000-08:00

February 15, 2007
(On the sixty sixth birthday of Martyr Shaden Abdel Qader Al Saleh Abu-Hijleh)

On the altar of love
An angel came from above
To take her soul away from all
On a journey like that of prophets
To the lands of the first call
The home of martyrs and divine poets.

On that day Shaden didn't die
And today, Feb 15, is her birthday
Sixty six years of love, struggle, and tears
For the children of Palestine
And the earth that is yours and mine.

Sixty six years she is today
Despite the bullets that killed her yesterday
Or was it four years ago?
A heart in love with her would not know
Earthly time in this case does not show.

In birthdays we give presents to those who we love
But what present can you give to a person who is Love
This is the greatest challenge of all
Only divine help can prevent the fall.

A party for her I shall make
The sweetest cake I shall bake
Family and friends I invite
Sixty six candles we must light
A promise & oath we must make
We will not stop the fight
The chains of the oppressor we must break
Peace and justice for children's sake.

Shaden Abu-Hijleh is a Palestinian peace activist assassinated by the Israeli Army on October 11, 2002 ; you can visit the website in her memory on: http://www.remembershaden.org/

Palestinian Superman!

2007-02-25T12:05:00.000-08:00

You must be Superman to be a real man in Palestine...

You must use all your senses 24-hours a day in order to stay...

You must hear the gunfire, then the screams that fade away...

You must see blood, again and again, and still see red...

You must hold the barbwires in your hand and smile for the elderly woman trying to bypass the Israeli checkpoint...

You must smell the teargas and cry as if there aren't enough tears in this "Holy Land'...

You must taste the humiliation and eat Nabulsi sweets all in the same day... And...

And still think of the olives and thyme...

And think of ways to end this endless crime...

Oh my beloved... do we still have time...

To hold hands and kiss... and raise our children in a cosmic bliss...