Hanna Habib Farha
Mother
God's story will begin
After that relentless war
I know mother,that God's story
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1- The mihbaj is an Arabic coffee grinder,which in addition to grinding coffee is also used as a musical instrumentby Arabs. Additionally,it is used as a beckon to neighbors and friends to gather in fellowship.
UAE
abuabir@yahoo.com
As the night dies,I shall return
As the night dies
I will return
With the budding of the roses.
I am southward bound
As a winging dove.
Have you
Some parting word for me ?
Perhaps some thought to guide ?
Some God-inspired word
To impart before the confrontation ?
I am not going there
To sow the seeds of terror
Among a restless people .
Nor do I return to my fatherland
To rout the strangers their entrenched
Or strip them
Of their clothing
And their shoes.
I go rather as if to kiss the sanguine lips
Of a land whose heart is rent.
What might those lips say as I
With naked lips draw near
Unto that bosom home
My father built
For those of his own blood
Some two decades gone
Those children were beautiful
In your eyes,mother,
And so remain.
That image time has etched
Into your mother's consciousness
Will there remain impressed
Until as infection it spreads
To those yet unaware
Of a lost children's plight.
Those scattered children
Grown too large,
To be confined and walled
Within a tent,a tent too small
To enclose and shroud a dream.
Yesterday,
We dwelled as in a nest
-smaller than that the UN gave-
We were happy then
Life cannot mean happiness now,
Until that land
Receives her children once again.
Its smell is not of ordinary earth
For God dwelt thereon,
In every reach of land
We felt his presence:
In the soil
In the green grass
In the soil
In the parched grass
I wonder of God's dwelling place today!
Is He in the land
Awaiting His children's eager return
As birds unto a nest???
When that time comes mother,
I pledge that not a grain of soil
Nor a blade of grass
Will escape my grasp,
As one by one I gather all
Even if green grass
Has parched to brown
And brown to ash.
Ah,then,
I will not let
Even the lingering smoke escape
But rather, bending low
Heap my MIHBAJ to the brim (1)
And listen to its song,
Beckoning every stranger from afar.
I PROMISE you
I'll not ignite the fire this time
-God is not honored by fire-
That God Whom I will find
Upon those plains,
And amidst the ruins.
I will find Him there my beloved
And HE will speak to us from A to Z
His words spring not from fear or cowardice
For HE know not cowardice,
That is ours to claim.
With that interminable war long past,
That war ,
Which started in an alien land
And dragged itself
Even to my doorstep
Leaving tattered dreams and sorrows
In its wake.
I'll listen to Him,I promise you that.
I will not interrupt
Nor allow a stranger's interference.
Even the chipping stone my father used
In breaking almonds for our food
Will then be stilled.
The soil and the grass's smoke
Will seem as if in audience
As one, we shall await His words.
Did not God move
Among those
Unnamed aliens,from unnamed distant lands
Among those
Who brought our bosom land
To its unknown fate
In God that fate will become known
We will know the stranger
To his very heartbeat
We will know his every thought
From the moment
Of his escape and settlement
-or can we call it that in our land
I promise you mother
That I will not interrupt Him
And even to the alien I'll say:
"Now your silence must be eternal"
But,to the Mihbaj,
I will shout :SING
And I will sing and dance
When God has had his say.
Will not be heard in one hour,
Nor one year ,
Nor even twenty
But I will listen,
And the alien
Will keep silent this time,
Silent in my bosom home.
Not one of them will dare
To move or breathe
Lest he disturbs God's presence
Until
The story ends.
And the story shall end
Unlike other stories
This one is UNIQUE,
Told in a world bereft of reason,
In a crazy world,arrogant and unaware.
A world of jokes
Which brings more bitterness than joy
A world which thinks not
Of a children's plight .
Would that I could hear from God
The story of crossing
That border river at night,
The way lighted
By the whites of alien eyes
And from him hear
The story of one who threw himself
Upon a bomb
In an Amman market place,
Lying down to death
As if upon a bed of silk to sleep (2)
All of these were children
Two scant decades past,
Mother dearest,
I'll not return before the night dies
But wait instead
To return to you
With the budding roses.
WASHINGTON D.C. 1971
(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED)
2-The story is told of a Palestinian commando who had been sent on a bombing mission to his homeland, but accidentally dropped the bomb in an Amman market .On seeing that it would explode and kill his countrymen, he threw himself upon it ,taking the full blast himself ,saving many and causing his own death.