the Native to the Sun

born on an overcast day 1

There is no way to the out…said, the native to the sun.

Both, tousled with dampness and shrewd behavior.

For some reason, pity beckons us, calls us here, and leaves for months on end.

I have spent a life time running away…

from all that is

dark.

And,

all that is…

gray.

Soon, with life at a crawl…

We will have not choice but to…

Pray for us all!

 

Now That We Have Tasted Hope

Now that we have come out of hiding,
Why would we live again in the tombs we’d made out of our souls?

And the sundered bodies that we’ve reassembled
With prayers and consolations,
What would their torn parts be, other than flesh?

Now that we have tasted hope
And dressed each other’s wounds with the legends of our
oneness
Would we not prefer to close our mouths forever shut
On the wine that swilled inside them?

Having dreamed the same dream,
Having found the water behind a thousand mirages,
Why would we hide from the sun again
Or fear the night sky after we’ve reached the ends of
darkness,
Live in death again after all the life our dead have given us?

Listen to me Zow’ya, Beida, Ajdabya, Tobruk, Nalut,
Listen to me Derna, Musrata, Benghazi, Zintan,
Listen to me houses, alleys, courtyards, and streets that
throng my veins,
Some day soon, in your freed light, in the shade of your
proud trees,
Your excavated heroes will return to their thrones in your
martyrs’ squares,
Lovers will hold each other’s hands.

I need not look far to imagine the nerves dying,
Rejecting the life that blood sends them.
I need not look deep into my past to seek a thousand hopeless vistas.
But now that I have tasted hope
I have fallen into the embrace of my own rugged innocence.

How long were my ancient days?
I no longer care to count.
I no longer care to measure.
How bitter was the bread of bitterness?
I no longer care to recall.

Now that we have tasted hope, this hard-earned crust,
We would sooner die than seek any other taste to life,
Any other way of being human.
#Khaled Mattawa

Lastly, Last Night

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Lastly, last night’s vigil…

I could not write you a love song.

I would not know where to start.

But last night’s vigil,

reaching for you is where it turns the light from the dark.

My words have never been acquainted with eloquence.

Yet, then came the touch of your skin.

The simplest gesture for many years…unrecognized.

Truest freedom is to lay down by your side.

Misguided romance and nightly party favors,

had been my used to be, host.

Anger’s undercover liaison.

Who had promised to protect me from me.

Hostage of the Heart…had been the bedtime tale.

Spoken words intended to make the strong frail.

Through the trail of fears,

you have taken back my night.

Lastly, last night, you lay beside me…as you always have.

As always, daring me to care.

Lastly, last night’s vigil.

Home at last.

Lastly, last night.

Home at last.

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Illness

How is it going to be?

night stalking civility

I cannot comprehend with withered soul, the complacency

Bedraggled within my calloused feet, a fork in the road…no one seems to see

The hallway that looms between the walls of a mind…

has stopped time

As I witness the barren, stone ground, road ahead…

blistered and hollow

On and on and on, we, I shall go

Searching in the wilderness of a soul

I only wish to lay my bitterness in a earthen bed

Saint Gertrude Day!(a day late)

A Prayer to St. Gertrude, Patron Saint of Cats

Dearest Gertie, ask you I pray…

watch over the evil little cats…this and everyday.

Protect them from those who wish them ill.

Keep them at home…four tiny paws…safe from the snowstorm.

Give me the serenity to accept their indifference to me.

                the courage to be humble in their presence

and…     the wisdom to hide all breakables I wish to keep.

Protect my lawn furniture from the neighborhood Tom Cat.

And, Gert, a last thing I beseech from thee.

Please don’t let them kill me in my sleep.

-Amen

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Patron Saint of Cats…Sista Gert believed in her visions.  She believed in purgatory.  She believed…rodents, mice, etc., were handmaiden’s to hell’s highway.  The only way to rid the heavens and earth of this evil?  Cats!

Which as a cat owner, I can now understand.  Gert knew that there was a hell out there.  Possibly she had a ‘vision’ of where we now stand with Trump.  One thing led to another.  The ‘visions’ got worse.  Hell came in the form of rats.  And, Gert did not figure out until late in life…get a cat!

The cat solved the infestation.tumblr_p5qjeh6jca1rmxjpho1_540

So she chilled, as she grew older, with cats.

Hence Patron Saint of Cats!

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