Hint of the Century

                                                 Hint of the Century

 

Did you see us?,

and them,

did you hear us?, then,  

refusing to be condemned, 

rejecting all past tense, 

and all things and sense,

did you see us?

Old and young,

rich and poor,

free or bound,

from this diaspora or that,

from within and from without,

cheering as one,

in breath, soul and wish,

and chasing all doubt.

Did you get all that?

There is only one Pelest,

one people, one destiny, 

sans all spun, but this one.

Did you get this squint, this thing,

this hint, of their done century?  

Queen of the Temple and the Forty Thieves

Queen of the Temple and the Forty Thieves

 

Sacred is this silence and this chant,

for this closure that is only here and now,

or so it gives. 

Stolen is your story and my past, 

forgive me, no one could show me the way, 

or how to understand and hold back, 

unseen, those frozen tears, 

half-forgotten years,  and everything humble, 

grand or in between.

Forgive me as I never saw you like this before, 

in so much peace, and you can’t. 

Forty thieves have come by, 

stumbled then stowed,

all that I have ever had, and lost.

All that there is to have and lose, 

in freed and tired images, barren and scant.   

We have an address: Gaza, Palestine 20XX!

                                     We have an address:  Gaza, Palestine 20XX!

 

We never counted, did you know? 

you or me, in this hollow calculus or that,

as you have always known, dreamt and heard, 

from us, from their shallow words and

from their unholy chant,  

nothing is or can be yours, ours, 

only theirs, may be even less,

than a broken chant.

Redacted, then recalled to be celebrated, 

like an endangered species, 

not belonging to this place, this time, 

or this blurred, surreal count.

 

Have they run out of apologetics, you think?

Pundits and skeptics,

who know how to count,

spell, fake, and then shout, 

words which are not theirs,

through air which it can barely care,

and with breaths stolen from you,

from us, from that frozen stare,

from your future, from this unmistakable 

and done glare.

I know you were, as you will be, there.

 

You shall emerge,

from this abyss, this surreal down,

who else can?

With a new beginning, a new everything,

and no less, and no plan.

You shall emerge, 

carrying this soul, this thing, 

that’s us, all of us, as we like to stand, 

with all that we had managed to drag along,

from 19XX, and everything else, strong,

to be here, there, and in between.

You shall emerge,

I know, as the heavens, our sun, even this place,

uncounted they shall surge…seen or unseen.