Awakening from a Dream and other poems

Awakening from a Dream and other poems
Six poems from the Egyptian-American thinker/poet, and author of seven well-received books of poetry and prose, who was nominated for Pushcart Prize three times

Awakening from a Dream

In the night, the feathery fists came raining down
He ducked and staggered as they landed, again and again,
On his head, neck and across his shaking back
There was no avoiding this relentless retribution
Could it be, these were the familiar hands of his angels
The same strong ones that, throughout his wrong life,
Carried him through innumerable hardships
Cushioning him from nearly crushing falls
The blows continued to hammer down and he ceased 
Trying to avoid what he knew to be his due
Accrued through dismissed warnings and failed promises
He could begin to hear the beating of wings, now
Recognizing, with slow wonder, these fans were also his own
They flapped, like weak devotions, in the dark to shield him
Accompanied by intermittent flashes of a soft blue light
Illuminating the proud army of his divine tormentors.

The Limits of Love

You’re welcome to a small helping 
of care, a portion of our concern 
Ache, if you like, but don’t cry 
on our shoulder, for overlong 
Please, help yourself and move on
or you may find yourself, abruptly 
at the outskirts of compassion 
by the fence, where barbed wire begins
There is a sign that you can’t miss:
Keep out, it reads, in blood red
“Private territory, trespassers 
will be shot with indifference.”

For Millennials 

Young Narcissus 
contemplating your beauty
in a lake of selfies 

I, too, am enraptured 
by your shifting reflections 
updated, regularly 

Please, look away —
lest we both stumble and fall, 
drowning in our vanity.

I Ran

I ran hard and far
to outdistance my pain
But, when I got lost
my pain found me —
caressed me, wordlessly
and carried me Home.

Two Types of Kisses

What is a mystic
but one who swoons,
in the face of beauty
A natural believer
in evolution of spirit.
Two types of kisses,
and the choice is yours:
either with burning lips,
that bind and blind
Or a lipless kind,
preparing us to leave
a too-tight skin behind.
I stand, helpless, before
the sensuality of stretches,
but get down on bended knee
for the spiritual variety.

Holy Mess

Overnight, your once blessed existence
might reverse course
become an alien thing
and you stand accused
of unspeakable crimes
Never mind, you are innocent
of these base horrors—
as Kafka says, in his Trial,
‘Guilt is never to be doubted’
Be grateful, then
there are still dreadful sins
in our fallen world
of which you are blameless
Now, tell me, how will this crucible
change you? Then show how this
unasked-for crisis is
blessing, allow it to assist
the birth of your longed-for self
Thank God, for this Holy Mess!

Donate Now


*Comments will be moderated