Poem one
A Poem For Nicholas Dogas
At night the leaves are a yellow phosphorescent
The sick, pale moon a waning crescent
This is the Hour of Witching
I glide on my 10 speed wishing...
Poem 2. I dare you to translate the title
يا اخي اين انت
السلام الذي يتجاوز ال
(Ha Bhai Kaha Hona Apa,
Shantih, Shantih, Shantih)
When it spilled on Jerusalem’s streets: Blood
As we march for our flag to the drummer’s beats: Blood
From a mother’s schism streams
From the hands of the laboring craftsmen it weeps: Blood
When the weak are cut down,
It is the healer into whose bandage it seeps: Blood
As it pours from Ali’s nose
When his face and punch meet: Blood
It is what we share
A sacred promise that I keep: Blood
I put it into all that I sow
And so it is in all that I reap: Blood
Love is blood
And so it will be Julian until we meet: Blood
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