Wednesday, June 27, 2012

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

Saturday, June 9, 2012

A Haiku Poem by Ali Znaidi in

     shiny black olives
slumbering under the sun
     symphony of peace

Written 06/06/2012