For Mohammed, a Complaint
-for Mohammed M (Gaza)
Where are you Mohammed? Where is your Gaza?
An olive tree grows there, but I cannot pluck its fruit.
My hands have not lifted the soil of Palestine,
where an olive tree was felled and trampled.
I am hungry, my friend. Where can I find your food?
You send me your words, and I eat them. I crave more.
Where is your rich knafa, your fatouche and maftul?
I make my own, but they do not come from your hand.
I hear the rythms of your songs, my heart dances,
but the best recording is a thin slice of dry bread.
Pictures of your markets and your orchards lure me,
but I have not tasted the salt of your seashore.
Where are you, Mohammed? Are you a ghost?
Your Gaza stirs my sleeping into troubled dreams.