Dedicated to Chief Raoni of the Kayapo in the Amazon rainforest
Is greed for money stronger than our signature? They wish to cut the trees to produce goods and furniture They will lose oxygen. This is a fact Chief Raoni is calling us to act So that we preserve a fresh breath So we can stop our planet’s death Support indigenous people’s right For your own survival you have to fight Idle no more Join a peaceful revolution for Protecting life Ending the strife Sign it the message Express your image Every forest ranger Can figure the danger
I am a Lebanese female poet, researcher and writer in Arabic and English.Fourth of January, 1957 I was born in Quarnayel, Lebanon. Being an only daughter among three sons, gave my whole life an aromatic taste. I got a master degree in political science from the American University of Beirut. Mahatma Gandhi is the only politician I follow and respect. Gamal Abd Nasir is the only Arab leader I admire. Rabindranath Tagore is my spiritual master. His poetry, writings, music, and universal thought is a real fountain for my spiritual uplifting. Chief Seattle’s “Message To the Modern World” broadened my views and deepened my interrelationships with Mother Nature and the GREAT SPIRIT. John Lennon is my daily friend. I recognize his song “Imagine” as my national anthem. I am a fan of Yoko Ono; I appreciate what she gave to the “whole world” through her love to John. I believe that the cosmic law is the only law that any creature must follow in order to understand the simple truth of life and death: that is another form of existence.
Before the spill there was soaring. And then anti-g. I readied myself for the ultimate fall. This was the poetry of submission sharing the pain of disillusionment. Who was pretending of liberation in a see-through heart? This was the time
Since I saw you, I’ve had this hope live in me. That everything that isn’t needed be gone. The details of sales papers, shopping carts. The ease of temptation. Standing still. To fill my cart full of things I don’t
Slashing the surged monarchy of celibates stoking the fire of wounds, the turret locks on to a target taking off the gloves. The mountain was rising. A sheet of the floating ice disturbs the ecology of heart. I place my
Ceramic memories and terracotta pain; the injured crypt ultimately got opened. At urn burial, the name was absent. A pristine ritual for a nameless martyr. The sword within him was not used and pubescent bomb went unexploded. You leave a