Olive-Skinned Lullabies

Hush now, kind one,

Nothing can stay.

Hurry now, leave your things,

Let the world return to formless clay.

Even though it hurts,

And though the times seem strange,

All must come to pass,

All must come to change.

***

From lands afar to Gaza’s heart,

Secret treasures rumored beneath olives low,

Quiet footsteps whisper,

To Sayed al-Hashim we’ll go.

Chuckling Imam stirs sumaghiyyeh,

Seeking sumac, tahini cannot be found.

If nothing else, chards and whey,

Garnished with what lies upon the ground.

***

Hush now, brave one,

Along staccato, staggered streets you tread.

A promised land awaits,

Oil and blood mix where fallen bled.

Where is the milk and honey,

That should be found instead?

Perhaps the answer lies contained

Within the wooden slats of brother's killing shed?

***

Looking up, mind the branch of the olives,

Providing shelter o’er the path,

Finding well hidden amongst the trees

ancestral wisdom passed.

Trusting in the unpredictability of the work,

Grandmother tucked some jewels away,

Buried deep within the earth.

***

Hush now, tiny one,

Barefoot picking through the rubble,

To the Souk al-Qassariya.

In the market’s heart,

Grandma’s gold swapped for trouble.

Clenched fists whisper of grief and faith;

Merchants bite the hand and snatch at ghosts,

Paying less than half of what was paid.

***

Empty bellies stretch now thin,

Unable to bow or find repast,

Gnawing hunger growing,

Baited traps made effective through enforcing fast.

Far above the burning trunks,

Hearing mortars and flames aghast,

Aphelion hosts in heaven hang,

Casting hope our hope will last.

***

So now hush, my Kindest One,

Though olive blossoms beseech new dread,

Know that loving arms await you,

Waiting up ahead.

Grandma waits and watches even now,

Although she is long gone.

Listen well, rest your eyes,

Escape into my song.

***

Beyond the bombs,

Dead and dying Yeshua;

A lioness watching in the midnight sky.

Matriarchal protection

Swelling strong with survivor’s pride.

As sure as cruelly stamping boots,

And the lingering scent of olives crushed.

Blossoms clutched in youthful grasp,

Dry ere the virgin’s blush.

***

Peace be, mousey one,

Jewels are but wealth.

Together we live the ‘morrow,

Dry your tears; eat to your health.

If not, then it’s no matter,

Saving for uncertain future’s cost,

The stars bear silent witness in personified plea,

Never taking stock of what’s been lost.

***

In the silence, petals fall,

Gently swaying with fresh pain,

Through the loss our memory

Binds us in familial chains.

Individually we stack the blocks,

Planting gardens in decay.

With each seed that takes root,

And each cobbled stone that we lay,

New futures are wrought by deeds today.

***

Hush now, Tiniest One,

‘Neath the Lion’s locs.

Lay your head upon my lap,

Your body upon the rocks.

As Chuckling Imam smiles,

a beacon of faith unswayed against the trials,

In the morning, we’ll hasten on,

Greeting another dawn for which we’ve prayed.

Amongst the verdant olives,

Our clay is formed,

Long delayed.