It’s all about Politics by Ali Znaidi

It’s all about Politics

it’s all about ungulate mammals

drained in dung

it’s all about udders milked dry

it’s all about plans being down the drain

it’s all about searching for that fly

which irritates your throat

it’s all about a place under the sun

it’s all about guinea pigs

it’s all about experimentation

it’s all about red carpets

it’s all about red tape

it’s all about worshipped idols

it’s all about turning people into zombies

it’s all about politics

Written 23/11/2012 

Humanity is One by Ali Znaidi

On a ground full of pitfalls I walk.

On luxurious carpets you tread.

But nothing can make our stomachs

satisfied only a loaf of bread.

You watch the news on a plasma T.V.

I watch it on an ordinary screen.

Be it a plasma or an ordinary T.V.

Both we watch the same scene.

I walk beyond the horizon

running with the scorching sun.

My path is different from yours.

But at the end humanity is still one.

Written 18/09/2011

Eerie Place by Ali Znaidi

I have never been to Australia.

But what if my feet /fate sent me there?

I would but wonder about myself

being put in a kangaroo pocket—

an eerie place

to experience something mysterious.

I would just write something on the wall

of her pocket.

Perhaps, someone else would read it

one day.

Written 10/03/2012

Against Stagnation by Ali Znaidi

If you stare at the sea,

you can see that the sea has many arousals,

even if the weather is serene.

Just think about the many waves.

If you stare at the still water of the swamp,

you will be just dazzled

because a jumping frog

is there just trying to make the water move.

If you read a poem,

You will be amazed,

because the poem is there

just trying to make your mind doubt and question.

So whenever you feel stagnant

just look for the waves or the jumping frog

inside you,

or just read a poem.

Written 15/03/2012

Poetry: A Simplified Definition by Ali Znaidi

Watered by blood and sweat,

Poetry is like a grain of wheat.

It only sprouts by spreading its spikes

in papers plowed by  a free bird’s tweet.

Written 16/02/2012

Freedom Clip by Ali Znaidi

Freedom Clip

for Charles Bernstein

It is “Freedom” lying out there

in a sunny beautiful day under

the fragrant apple tree, gently,

but seductively, caressing her soft body

while bathing with apple juice and red wine.

She looks irresistible with that captivating smile

that lures the ones who speak for their rights

and who resist the frigid silence

to bathe with her under the apple tree…

 Written 25/02/2012

The Aftermath of the Revolution by Ali Znaidi

After every revolution

someone has to fill in big ponds with

tears of bereavement

that won’t dwindle.

Someone has to train his belly

 to swell and to protrude.

Someone has to stitch his perforated pocket

and make it very loose,

so illegal money

can get by.

After each revolution

herbs of arrivistes

blossom in gutters,

but they embellish them

to seem like fragrant roses.

After each revolution

someone has to lose a leg, a hand or a rib.

Someone has to lose the memory of a fully-fledged body.

Dismemberment is very cruel,

but someone has to trade

in this dismemberment,

saying:”That is the rule.”

After each revolution

egoistic hearts creep into the surface

suckling on the sweet sweat of the dismembered.

After each revolution

things might go well,

but this dark face of the coin is always there.

Written 19/02/2012

Great Unexpectations by Ali Znaidi

Great Unexpectations

Hugging their dear chairs close,

Arab leaders were sleeping in.

Their bodies befriended only

sleek satin and smooth silk.

All their nights were very long

like a solar solstice night.

They slept to the marrow,

dreaming only about eternity.

Despite intelligence reports—

that warned,

they kept sleeping and snoring

on their comfortable pillows

embroidered with gold—

Oh, I mean people’s sweat.

Their ears were stuffed with

the cotton of denial and derision.

Despite the alarming tears of the orphans

who just wanted a loaf of bread,

they kept sleeping.

Despite the cries of Oliver Twists

that warned,

they kept snoring.

They didn’t heal the wounds,

nor did they mend society’s cracks.

Even a poultice would suffice,

but they kept sleeping and snoring.

Despite people’s supplications

that warned,

they kept slumbering and hibernating.

Suddenly, at a wintry night, so short

like a lunar solstice night,

little worms began

feasting on the fragile delicious winsome wood of their chairs,

and licking the stains of caviar on their silky dresses.

Crows began cawing on the

windowsills of their palaces,

waiting for the coffins of their chairs to

be buried in dunghills.

Then a lovely song

named “great unexpectations”

exploded in their cozy chambers opening up their ears.

They woke up to the rhythm of fear

because their advisors

didn’t advise them to read

Oliver Twist—

a book that warned.

Written 04/02/2012

Strawberries of Speech by Ali Znaidi

Develop a nose for noise. That is, stop decoding and begin to get a

nose for the sheer noise of language…  Or stop listening and begin

 to hear…—S McCaffery

I am silenced again & to be

licensed infinitely     to speak again,

I compose a symphony of a liquid song

capable of resisting congealment and canning—

a liquid song never broken up by silence again.

From its ripples, so rich and large speech swells—

a song of freedom breaching the unbearable silence

because silence tastes like a rotten mustard.

The fluidity of freedom fears

nothing—a shield for the body’s and soul’s whim.

I license myself to speak—a terminal embrace of free speech,

despite any silencing power,

and to taste the strawberries of speech.

Though scissors are always there,

inside my mouth there is a tongue

a tongue a tongue

that makes me forget about annihilation.

A tongue that is ready to howl

“against the silences to come.”

[Against the Silences to Come is a poetry book written by Ron

Loewinsohn and published by Four Seasons Foundation in 1965.]

Written 03/02/2012

A Haiku Poem by Ali Znaidi in peace.muralarts.org

     shiny black olives

slumbering under the sun

     symphony of peace

Written 06/06/2012

Couplets for Barcelona by Ali Znaidi

Some songs and stories make me dream of you—“such a beautiful horizon.”

The wind will make my ship sail to you even without using a mizzen.

I’ll sing to you that beautiful song of Queen,

while dreaming of your calm sea, so serene:

………………………………………

Barcelona - such a beautiful horizon

Barcelona - like a jewel in the sun

Por ti sere gaviota de tu bella mar

Barcelona - suenan las campamas

Barcelona - abre tus puertas al mundo

If God is willing

-if God is willing

If God is willing

Friends until the end

Viva! Barcelona!

Oh, Barcelona! You are a poem written by the seductive Mediterranean Sea.

You make me spellbound. What can I do with thee?

I can only succumb to your sun soaked beaches and vivid trees.

I like to be soothed. I like to inhale your fragrant balmy breeze.

Your beauty casts a spell on me. It infiltrates into my heart and even into my kidney.

Joan de Déu Prats once called you “the city of the gardens with chimney.”

Oh, Barcelona! I see you a gorgeous mesmerising Mediterranean bride

You are enfolded in beauty, charm and pride.

Oh, Barcelona! Can I have the honour to be your knight

even for just one month and a fortnight?

Oh, Barcelona! You stand so loftily between the mouths of the rivers Llobregat and Besòs.

To you I send millions of kisses or “besos”.

“Oh, Barcelona I am so eager to come to you!” I said this even to a skylark.

How nice to have a stroll around the Gothic area or a walk around the Labyrinth Park!

In the narrow streets of the Gothic area I love to lose myself.

I like to have a drink and tapas in Born, while listening to an old man telling a story of an elf.

The “Boquería” market and the boutiques in Gràcia have their own charm.

I would love to have a coffee there, while reading Homage to Catalonia, not Animal Farm.

Oh, Barcelona! You are a city that gets me hooked and makes me spellbound.

I like to go to the Palace of Music to listen to the sweetest sound.

How nice to be in the Gothic Quarter or in Las Ramblas shopping street

contemplating the amazing architecture, while listening to buyers’ shuffling feet!

Oh my God, what a heavenly sight to see, and what marvels to relish!

What beauties to enjoy, and what a marvellous city to cherish!

Oh, Barcelona! Poets have written your name on papers of gold.

Only beauties are bestowed on you by the Lord.

 

Written Summer 2011

A Silkworm by Ali Znaidi

A silkworm waging

a war on

the cocoon,

and breaking the bars

with all her might.

 

She jubilantly

leaps out

from the cocoon,

free.

 

Smooth

silk in my hand.

 

Written 02/03/2012

Waterfalls of Hope by Ali Znaidi

Tonight the moon was sick.

The stars were slumbering

under black blankets,

and electricity went mad.

A small glimpse of seeing

a little lantern poised on

the wall of a remote

cottage,

standing there emanating

waterfalls of light

brightened my mood.

A little lantern holding its own

luminosity and proudly dancing

for being able to reflect,

and produce light in this sinister

somberness,

nailing the coffin of despair,

and flooding it with

waterfalls of hope.

Written 02/02/2012

Five Experimental Sonnets by Ali Znaidi

Sonnet 1


You can read sonnet 1 here

Sonnet 2


You can read sonnet 2 here

Sonnet 3


You can read sonnet 3 here

Sonnet 4

He escaped the grey town.

The colour grey harmed the eyes.

The eyes wanted to see other colours

diluted w/ desire.

The colour grey—ash in the ashtray,

grey pebbles prisoned in asphalt,

scents of a burnt tyre:

All coerced the poor eyes.

Same colour cuffed the eyes

from eyelash to eyelash.

The eyes wanted to see prairies, so lush.

Even a flash of greenness would suffice.

It would set the eyes aglow,

saving them from a deathblow.

Written 13/04/2012

Sonnet 5

You can read sonnet 5 here

A Traditional Haiku by Ali Znaidi

   the sun’s rays wither

 summer will never exist

    happy April’s fool

Written 08/04/2012

A New Life by Ali Znaidi

Deep sea.

Rough sea.

Howling wind.

Merciless tempest—

a monster with

dreadful shapes.

Ghost of death

apparition.

A lifeboat.

A white boat.

A new life

sprouts.

Written 16/04/2012

End by Ali Znaidi

And the morning

passed away,

as a flicker of light.

And the magnet

of the sun

witherd away,

as a weary bee

swallowed by

a black lily.

And the body

turned into a

nude skeleton,

as if it never

existed.

Written 16/04/2012

Three Haiku by Ali Znaidi submitted to the HaikuNow! international contests 2012

The Haiku Foundation here created the HaikuNow! international contests to expand opportunities for writers of English-language haiku. Prizes will be awarded for English-language haiku in three categories: traditional, contemporary and innovative. Results of 2012  were announced on April 17. For past winners, see the HaikuNow! Archive here.

These are the haiku I submitted on March 26, 2012 for this contest

Traditional Haiku

rain mingles with mud—

the big house falls asunder

wallpaper keyholes

Written 17/09/2011

Contemporary Haiku

a ripe fragrant apple thrown into

the dustbin

an educated  jobless

Written 11/05/2011

Innovative Haiku

worm injecting life into a corpse

Written 25/03/2012

So Many by Ali Znaidi

So many bombs of

anger are stored

in the heart,

ready to

explode any time

and destroy.

So many bombs of

wrath are stored

underneath the tongue,

ready to

explode any time

and assail.

So many wisdom teeth

are caged into the mouth,

ready to

intervene

and appease the tension.

Written 18 03 2012

A Bohemian Journey by Ali Znaidi

After years and years of making truce

with traditions and conventions,

and after years of touring the realms

of standardization,

it takes just one minute to be a bohemian.

Just decide to strip off

the robe of conformity

and start your bohemian journey,

letting your boat sail

against the current!

Written 10 04 2012

Postmodern Rain by Ali Znaidi

Then when I found frogs in the bucket instead

of water,

I just shivered.

I didn’t expect to find frogs; jumping frogs—

green ugly creatures that signify…

The bucket was full to the brim with frogs—

a palimpsest of scattered & scrambled ideas.

Green frogs in the bucket,

jammed like sardines in a basket.

Each one wanted to speak the truth.

I was flabbergasted.

I shivered.

I smashed the bucket against the wall,

and    f  r  a  g  m  e  n  t  e  d   it,

letting the frogs go in multifarious directions.

Written 10 04 2012