Corrupt hierarchal systems Of laws and regulations False are all their items False are their celebrations False is the belief Of every thief Can you own mother earth? Can you extinct the birth Of species everywhere? Polluting the air Still you cannot feel Turns of the wheel Of time and space An unstable case For the human race Fulfills your place
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.
The Poet Turns 100 In Honor of Stanley Kunitz When my body wears to dust let the remains be language find only verbs at the core struck flints from explosive ore nouns charged with names of foes and lovers cool
you on one shore I on another range is vast, surrounded by fens. furious boiling men loaded with guns do you hear my heartache ooh here you come bold and fierce warrior take me away and burn away my fevers,insecurities
He was very thin, half naked, one arm broken, glasses cracked. Early morning an owlet will land over its head And give a long hoot. The bleary eyes will look down non-chalantly on browsing goats at its feet. I will
My room was the old garage attached to the house festooned with posters and dirty underpants my father’s Mercedes was a sacred relic with a flavor of old leather upholstery. It rested in its own building. there must have been