Improvising On Homeland’s Strings

Winter has the taste of melancholy; my window puts on a cloak of glass, wraps its face with a shawl of lead and drops cold tears, each time universe shrinks.

Migrant birds have a travelling homeland in sky and more than an estrangement on earth. But a sparrow begs for bread inside a cement cage.

After we’d concluded all revolutions; that of the slaves, then that of the serfs, and lately that of the proletariat, then tightened our fists on screens and confiscated the silver of the moon, matters became remedy-less.
So, very soon, we’ll inaugurate the era of post-truth.

A homeland that climbs on the shoulders of the poor is a wooden horse full of mercenaries.
Troy, first and last, stands up from the ashes of conspiracy.

Love is a transitory state, always coming to its end when it is hanged on a hanger.
A homeland is a transitory state, always dying when flags turn into rags to hide genitalia of banks.

Slavery is a chronic state;
Here, my ceiling wipes out stars from my nights.
My colored fish thank me silently on the borders of their glass cage.

A homeland is just a handful of water keeping faces wet.
It is just a handful of grain for birds.
It is just a bed broader than an empire which the sun never leaves.
Homeland is just a jasmine flower, which turns its face to meet morning, without permission from nobody.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (3 votes, average: 4.33 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Fareed K. Ghanem

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
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.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of

Flying With My Acoustic Six Strings..

Flying With My Acoustic Six Strings.. prose poem

We are going to Dubai yeah yeah Everyone so excited hey hey The one who is not is me Why o why I hear you ask ‘Coz I have a question on my mind And it is quite a task

Strings And Frets Plucks And Strums

Strings And Frets Plucks And Strums long poem

My acoustic six strings Where have you been A piece of wood a group of strings Maplewood rosewood Nylon steel You even have a gold plating It keeps me wondering So pure so sweet I pluck you I strum you

Voice Of The Strings

Voice Of The Strings short poem

The string that ties everybody together Each vibrating a different sonnet Expressing the tune of melody connecting the human hearts Oh! I listen to the frequency of the string My fingers gently getting on the strings I feel the strings

Puppets on Strings

Puppets on Strings short poem

None our own devices in any scheme of things We all are but nothing than puppets on strings With advent designed for a set time on stage All expectedly ordained impossible to rearrange Often get manipulated and to probable comply