The Palm Tree

Mishpachat | Rocky Ben-Yehuda | Ceramic

The Palm Tree by By Zainab Faal

Victory has arrived,

to the streets,

And they once smelled like rubble And they once smelled like dust. Ya Sam’aa! Did you hear,

that Al-Maleek won?

Why didn’t you tell Al Ard just how long the palm tree was in jihad with the seeing of the eyes?

Children peek behind

arms of women

who wait for

Hussein, Abu Hussein

Ya Yateem,

and you look different today are those eyes or are they

A witnessing sky?

And I think I know

what your heart says

when four-wheeled chariots make its way

to the land of Dunya’s Qiyamah

Bismillah

The window cracks open

The living shuhada send tearful salam their bliss of

reunion drifting on breezes. We launch kisses to

crowds; they grasp,

drawing them near before

they can escape.

The first cry of the newborn

touches my soul.

Before this I drank

stories of your voice

Now I know I was fasting.

The infant is slick but pure

so we call him Yahya.

My dear, your perfume is

As sweet to me as the promise of After.

It starts to rain.

mist and crystal droplets

strike stone and earth

I gather raindrops in my

hands. I catch the sweetness.