Life Cycle

My grandmother….
Hearing her live through
the years of yesterday

Knowing
she will be the last glimpse
of my past

After she is gone…..
my parents belong before
I am now
My children, the future

After she is gone…..
Death’s sneer gets closer
Opening his tap on my fear
Moistening years that have gone
Thirsting years to be

Soon they will be asking me the questions

What if I don’t have the answers?

My Niece, Jacinta

Watching her
Watching me

Watching an ant
The sky
Her hand
My hand
Clapping hands

Listening to her
Form words
Shape words
Speak words
Thread words

Chasing her
through the fields of life
where yesterday she crawled
but today she walks.

It’s like
watching myself
rediscover the secrets of the wind
hidden inside
the eyes of a child

Where did I lose my way?

Son of the Cedars - Boullous il Bahri

i

A soothing wind
Caresses the sleep stained cheek
Of an emptying youth

Shaking the foundations of time
Chilling the boundaries of dream
Guiding his first steps to their calling
The calling of ancient tongues
Ancient tongues
Waiting to fill the troth
of youthful ears.

He is placed in their northern circle
And christened one of their own
Emblazoning him with their gifts
"Of Strong roots thrust into arid rock"
Of a silent tongue that watches the forest play
And a spirit that lives while the earth decays

They brand his image to their trunks
And legitimise him with their name

Son
Son of the cedars
They chant
As the sun takes the shape of the moon
As the ground treads the steps of centuries past
And the sky rains the taste of their sweet perfume

Finally,
He has joined the race of the immortals
And leaves them………..a man
With the pride of Lebanon
Fastened securely
To his back


ii

That same wind emerges
Breaking through the foundations of time
Reaching past the laws of space

Finding him
In a strangers land

Guiding him back …..

Holding out their branching arms
Cradling him to their timeless breasts
Singing ancient lullabies
While he sleeps in their warping mist………..

He died!
Died in the arms of the immortal

His body
Feeding the thirsty ground
Saturating their roots

Oh Son
Son of the cedars
They brought you back to us
Reincarnated
Through the greenest of their leaves
________________

Dedicated to the memory of my Grandfather, Paul Michael (Boullous il Bahri)

Genetic Screams

Two hands……
Only two hands……
But how they choke a thirsting spirit

Two hands……
His two hands……
Moulded onto the body of a walking furnace

He has come back!
Born again in an open palm
Where two raging seas
Stare down
Down at the objects
that link him
To Him

Escape!
Run through the barricaded wind!
Chase salvations rope

Reach for it!
With hands that mock
The surfacing fears

He is forever there
Dangling by his side.
Leading him back
Back to the den
that gently cradles
the choking years

Decaying Smiles

A smile
slashed for a dollar

A heart
trodden on for land

A hand
pushing the concrete distance

A mind
Dancing on graves of injustice
Walking on water of tears
Rummaging through their screams
Digging our future goal
Where greed distantly sneers

Reaching for him
He hides…….
Hides behind them

Yet we continue to search
For the hidden answer
The hidden truth
The truth that sleeps in our blood
Yet flows through their tears
Tears that slash chubby cheeks
Cheeks that are opened to sympathy
Sympathy that urinates on frightened wounds
Wounds that travel
deep in the years

And a world away
We stand tall
Shouting their independence
While they droop
In their paradise of ruin
Picking through the rubble
of our cheers

You

You’re like water
In winter
Cold to my lips
While craving your warmth

Mocking me
In Summer
Where waters steam
Hisses on desert lips

I still drink you

I am an AUSTRALIAN Lebanese

( The "comments" that I am referring to in the paragraphs below are found in the comments section under my poem "Soundless Domination" )

It has taken me a few days to reply to the comment made above....
I walked through many emotions and even wrote a long reply which I was planning to happily send but......
I accidently deleted it.
All I have decided to say is ...
I am a very proud Australian.
Lebanon is a country where "the soil has never felt [my] tread".
Where my memories have only been painted by pictures and stories of its beauty.
In my homeland, Australia, my memories do not have to be painted.
I touch them,
I smell them and I live them.
I would also like to make a correction to part of the 'anonymous writers' statement.
Both my parents were not born in Lebanon.
My Father is a son of Lebanon (even though he has been a proud citizen of Australia for nearly thirty years), but my Mother and her Mother are both daughters of Australia...... technically that would make me a third generation Australian.
In additon, why can I not have a claim to this country?
It was built not just on the backbone of the white race, but on the back bone of my forebearers.

The comment above also shows concerns about me being ashamed of my Lebanese heritage.
To set the 'anonymous writers' mind at ease,
I will never be ashamed of the land or culture of my ancestors.
Lebanon will always be in my blood but it is in the blood of my past,
Australia is in the blood of my future.
As the 'anonymous writer' would know,
I have been brought up in a very respectable family that have upheld their lebanese traditions and values while respecting and amalgamating the traditions of the land in which they chose to migrate to.
On the whole, I will apologise if I was unintentionally evasive.
In future I will be more politically correct and state that I am an "AUSTRALIAN Lebanese" Thank You

Soundless Domination

We
the breeders of death

Death
you inseminated
in our wombs

Cultivating
The soil of our minds

Growing

Umbilically chained
To the life source of…..
You

Blue for boys
Pink for girls
Pants for men
Skirts for women
Hate the Jews
Kill the Christians
Wipe out Allah
Protect Australia
America
Iraq
Japan

KILL!

FIGHT
for a country
not really our own

And

Make us believe
that in order to
sanctify life,

We first

Must justify ………

Death

Reincarnated Eyes

He does not live
inside my mind
nor inside my heart

A home
He found
Eternally hidden
Inside my eyes

Filling them

Stretching them

Tapping
On their surface

Reminding me
He is there

Helping me to
See
The hearing
of the
blind man

Waiting
Till they close

Where he blows
his memories
down the trail
of my tears

Brainless Butterfly

They shape me in
their cocoon

Painting me with
their beliefs

Preparing me for
their world

Releasing me to achieve
their dreams

Pinning my wings to
their floor

Carrying me around as
their trophy

Allowing my beauty to fly
Only
Where
They
Choose
To
Place
Me

I am the slave of
their love

They are there..

They are there.......
In the corner of our minds
In the dust that settles on our conscience

They are there........
But with a flick of the switch
The dust is swept away