A Small Time

A Small Time prose poem

Uploaded by Fareed K. Ghanem

When I was a little boy, I used to run up to the end of the earthen road and run back homeward; in my hand an open-lipped astonished fig berry, a few apricot stones and some body-scars. At those days, I was the owner of a small decorated time, which I used to stretch up to day ends, wrap at evening around my fingers, and hide at night under my cushion, which was stuffed with bran and fantasies.

But, when I went into fables, wherewith everything I touch turns to gold and diamond, and my pockets overflow with hard currency and my eyes with flashes, then my small time dropped down and smashed to pieces.

I am looking for somebody to weld my small time’s fragments. Here, I am concealing my hands into my pockets. That is because I’m worried;
if I touch the air, it might become a diamond cage.
If I hug my mother, her hymns might become noisy needles.
If I touch our rose, just two blossoms older than me, its fragrance might turn to golden thorns into my throat.

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Fareed K. Ghanem

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I am 58 years old, from eastern Galilee, Israel (Palestine). I studied English literature, psychology and Law at the Hebrew university (Jerusalem). In the last three years, I published three books of which is dedicated to prose poetry. You are invited to visit the Facebook page Shadows of Water, where I publish my prose poems I translate to English.
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