June/July 2005


Memory is the cactus of exile

I journey to a homeland
In my father’s eyes
And bathe in tales of Canaan
Where old men are boys
And fig trees are mothers

Longing is an oak tree
Colonizing my veins
I seek refuge
In a blanket of silence
And dream of jasmine
Awaiting the return of the swallow

They say:
“You speak without words
And dwell in the dead”
The earth that once tickled my feet
Has forgotten me
While you burn refuse
To plant the lilies of tomorrow

Aida Qasim
June, 2005

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