Your life and mine
perpetuated with ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’
If we could
write invisible lines from Shakespeare’s sonnets
or glide on the sun rays
or drum away on the Tibetan plateau
or swim among the stars.
If only,
but the sonnets are written,
sun rays are fickle,
the plateau is no Tibet
and the stars are dead
Lend me your hand, Habibi
Winters were long and 25
Lend me your hand, Habibi
Hold me warm
Lend me your hand, Habibi
It’s a long cold night
Who will look at the sun and say,
‘I know this sky, bright and blue’
The blood that flood the sun rays
is what you and I shed
for freedom and liberation
Thousands went up in smoke in the fire of freedom
Thousands shot through the barrel of liberation
Thousands mourn, with their arms spread
Decapitated limbs and torso and heads
fell in their prayers
Salt on his board, sand in his underwear
A stud on waves, entertain a bored audience
Couple pose for pictures up on a dead tree
The sunset is lazy
One by one they all come in
A smile here and a frown there
Through the glasses of a sultry woman
He watches the ocean
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