Searching for my life
Oh! My beautiful dream, companion
of my rebellious thoughts
of remembering you,
In my rememberance, I search for my
for my life.
The moment I remember your name
a tempest stirs in my limbs.
You remind me of the breeze
gently blowing
through green oasis,
and our lush gardens,
Remind me of the moments of madness.
Wherever we were
or weren’t …
**
Narcissism
It is strange that happiness
has tears,
and love has wings.
It is strange that hearts
have salons and keys,
that beautiful eyes
have silent looks
that let you swim
in oceans of contentment.
**
Mother’s Day
Everyone around me is
Celebrating mother’s day …
The children are celebrating their
mother’s day,
and mothers are full of joy and
happiness …
The tears swell in my eyes,
but my pride forbids them
and leaves a lump in my heart,
with a sign could not be concealed …
But Motherhood remained
the strongest sound.
So I celebrate the occasion
with all who celebrate.
**
The Sweetest Words
The most beautiful and sweetest
words are those we feel
we love to say …
The beauty of writing
comes as a response to our feelings
while we address those
we love and long for …
All these make me feel now
an immense desire
to reply to your gentle letters…
I have the urge to write …
and write … and write,
until the ink in my pen dries out,
and the pages fill up.
**
Only love
Even love,
the breathing of the heart,
the window of conscience,
has been regulated by laws,
and forced within secure walls,
and questioned:
Who?
When?
How?
What?
and why do you love?
They submitted love to
the tribe’s wish,
to religion,
family,
sex, gender
and class …
They submitted love
to the powerful interests
of the family,
of religious leaders
and of the strongest sex …
The heart remains tolerant
with every pulse,
and every beat,
in the moments of attraction
and vitality.
It does not differentiate between
white and black.
It breaks the rules of shackles,
rebels against tradition,
and changes into a guiding light.
It does not recognize hatred,
nor accepts the teachings of those who
stand to benefit:
“This one is your enemy,
this one is not of your faith,
and this one is not
of your social status…”
Love’s rebellious heart
will only repeat one song,
the only one it understands
the song of caring … of love …
This is the true love…
**
An instant of choice
Oh my companion…
I have met your folks,
and seen your country.
I found your people to be gentle,
and your country to be striking;
however, your folks are not my people,
and your country is not mine.
I am proud of my people
and my family.
I shall not try to exchange
my homeland,
or my roots …
I am sure, you will be sad
at my departure,
and will remember me,
as I shall remember you,
every day,
and every hour …
I shall flow into your soul
because I am the breath of love,
and love never dies …
**
Hand of time
The hand of time has the audacity
to change the colour of my hair,
and my youthful look.
My hair has greyed,
my skin dried and wrinkled;
my hearing has weakened, and the
chirping of the birds dulled.
My bones are brittle,
the tape of my memories has slowed
down,
my eyes have lost
their brightness and their lustre
as they were the mirror
of the heart,
and the reflection of the beauty
of the world.
On this stage of usurious existence, that
gives youth, vigour and vitality,
then repossesses everything
it gave with high interest,
the drama continues
and nothing changes
except the players.
New faces appear,
and then disappear,
so other faces can reappear …
The connections continue,
and the drama never ends.
Time is the winner,
and old age the limiting factor …
**
To a rebellious author
I put my pen to serve the journalistic,
and the recording forms,
until I almost suffocated …
If I had your pen,
and your education,
I would have written no more,
and no less, than what you did,
since my enthusiasm and yours,
your style and mine,
are from the same type of sources.
Our revolt could not abandon
its humane imperative
“Freedom is to be seized,
not bestowed,”
and “no one can liberate a woman,
other than the woman herself.”
These sayings have their splendour,
but they remain mere words …
Women’s battles to gain their rights,
are nothing but tears shed
and hidden
until the fall of our own Berlin wall!!
**
