Poetry
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Merikokeb Berhanu (Ethiopia/US), Untitled XLVII (2020), acrylic on canvas, 60 x 48 in. / Courtesy of Addis Fine Art You always serve coitus with a side of cheese silkworms squirming... -
Dereje Demissie (Ethiopia), Psychscape (2009) This poem is written in response to a news story in Spotlight (South Africa), headlined as follows: “What the Charlotte Maxe... -
Ch’ol embroidered shirts / Photo by Diana Laura Montejo I Am the Alphabet They say, grass born in the forest, my body holds the freshness of mountains. I have absorbed the garden’s blossomin... -
Don’t just aim the telescope at the night sky’s swarming to discover one more planet. Turn it also toward the earth, toward the bottom of the sea, see the fish in between the rocks, a flicker of... -
Poetry is not solace, it is not a song of joy and of sadness, it is not a haven in the mouth of a blind man, it is not a museum. Poetry is not an almanac of meanings on t... -
Photo by Nathan Bang on Unsplash I brought mum and dad an old quilt – It’s nice, only it came out of the wash with funny splodges on it. They can stick it on the sofa bed out at the allotmen... -
Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash On the hilltop A woman said to me This fruit is called kam Kam I take the word as it comes I write it in my memory Like the three letters in the... -
Photo by Marcel Ardivan on Unsplash I propose, my love, to be for you the surface to be but body for your eyes to be but rhythm for your tongue and information for your net. – Myriam M... -
The children see trees bending bending and then they are broken coconutless frondless. The children see roofs in various states of disarray metal sheets lifting eaves pulled away. There’s Takaro’s ho... -
Last Tuesday I wasn’t enough of a poet to note how the falling rain would split the sky It doused the fires in my heart till its casing cracked It hammered the pyramids of my mind and washed a... -
Because all the fathers and mothers of my parents, all the time past, are earth. But also language, words like Spanish, gypsy, black, or immigrant... -
Photo by Ajeet Mestry on Unsplash The Alarm The television had announced the imminence of an attack. Would it be a bomb? Bacteria? A weapon previously unheard of? Everyone had long known... -
you come and go checking on those figs your eyes scanning the eyelets among branches you leave the slums of the city the rain’s hand-pan roofs above the ruins you come and go checking on those fi... -
The audio recording of “Simi” can be found here on the Musuq Illa website. Simi by Olivia Reginaldo Kay simiy ruwasqaykita atipanchu qilla qalluy qulluypaq qillqan Kay s... -
Photo © Keiko Onoda A thousand countries in myself – There’s something that precipitates to the very bottom of such a feeling. Is everything just an image, or is this only a wasteland where... -
Photo by Artur Kraft / Unsplash Golden rice stands in sheaves in the freshly cut autumn field. I think of many exhausted mothers and see beautiful, wrinkled faces along the road at dusk. T... -
Photo © by Yousef Khanfar Terrifying, that ringing of the phone then that voice, insistent, sad “Send your aid eastward all your uncles are now refugees” I sighed deeply, ached for them Th... -
We created the Palestinian Kufiyah to be your symbol of elegance and flames of resistance. We centered it with Net of the Sea, To remind you of staying one united, strong nation.... -
The Dome of the Rock in Al-Quds / Photo © by Yousef Khanfar I suffocate in my remorse, for I have betrayed you Against my own will. My apology is overdue. Your wounded eyes mourn tears from... -
Lajee Palestinian Dabka Dance Troupe / Photo by Tim Dennell / Flickr I ask the olives to be gentle for they’re weighing the branches down as heavy as the stories Um Muhammad carries on her... -
Photo by Cole Keister on Unsplash Let me be brief: by the end of this, someone will be cursed & I pray it anyone but Him. Let me start again: the night was beautiful but not roma... -
Maher Naji, Christ Has Not Yet Descended from the Cross / Courtesy of the artist Years and years ago, I was small, very small. I was one of the children of the world who were born a... -
Asma Ghanem / Courtesy of the artist Hunger strike, fortieth day* Your bodies flutter on the ceiling of the room I can see your slow gestures the small bones in the joints of your... -
Mohamed Masri / Courtesy of the artist I Write the Land I want to write the land, I want the words to be the land itself. But I’m just a statue the Romans carved and the Arabs forgot. Col... -
Motaz Azaiza / Courtesy of the artist My Sixteen-Year-Old Mother What is my eightysomething mother doing under these conditions? She watches the situation behind the glass Once the rain stop...
