THE BOOK OF HOURS (2010)

I am only the food I eat—
everything sort of stops existing
during the day, and the world
is better for it. At night,
we know what it is
to be human again.

(3/2/10)

* * *

The response to prayers at dawn
is silence. It’s not deaf ears,
but not what you’re looking for.

(3/3/10)

* * *

We are selling and marketing a war,
and it is hard to find joy in it.
But others can’t see that.

We’ve run out of water, and today
may just be another day without food
if we’re looking to be heroes.

(3/4/10)

* * *

The aloneness of morning
is no different today than any other day—
I am present for the sunrise.

There is no reason to hope for anything anymore,
just be ready for whatever comes.

(3/5/10)

* * *

The victory is everything to some,
but means nothing to the rest of us—
a few nickels in our pockets
don’t get us very far.

Our death will be pointless, but the fight
will still happen.

(3/6/10)

* * *

If I am unpatriotic, there is nothing
I can do—your flag or mine,
there will be no way out of this,
not on this earth. Even surrender
and resignation will not light the path
of our escape. You never know
when the roof will fall in on you.

(3/7/10)

* * *

They say I should not desert,
but there is nothing left to defend,
no good reason to keep fighting.
Even king and country have seen this.

I should have been a fisherman.

(3/8/10)

* * *

God’s changeless existence
is my attrition, gifts get taken back
in the end. There is little pride
to die for anything else.

(3/9/10)

* * *

I have just a memory of that open door,
maybe I still carry with me what
others forgot about long ago.
Some find generosity
in the fleeting days of this life;

all I can give is an empty heart,
but someone may find it useful.

(3/10/10)

* * *

We pray and pray, and make it through
to the next morning, but are our prayers
answered? The other side falls,
but is the hand of God?
What if we all gave our lives
for a mistake?

Nobody wants to answer that.

(3/11/10)

* * *

On a day like this is when
you lose your friends.
This coastline will not be ours forever—

the closer you get to the ground,
the longer you live.

(3/12/10)

* * *

Our freedoms are not static—
they change over time.
Love of my country is not the same
as love of my father’s country. That nation,
it doesn’t exist anymore.
And for my sons, this one will be gone.

It’s quite a view from up here,
once you make it to the top.
Many will never get to see it.

(3/13/10)

* * *

Some lose brothers, some don’t.
Stay quiet—
only demoralized souls
walk through this field.

It’s time to clean our boots.

(3/14/10)

* * *

In our country, infants don’t wave
little flags in their fists.
A rescue mission is
a lost cause. You fight
for the lost causes harder than
any others, you even die for them.
If God’s not with us, who is?

(3/15/10)

* * *

For every day we stay here,
the farther away from home we feel.
We will never make it out of here
alive, but we hold the bridge.
And it’s hard to tell
what we’ve earned.

(3/16/10)

* * *

There are still a lot of buildings
to crumble to the ground,
I can’t understand what the foreigners
are saying to me.

The lies are what keep us moving
every day, and I will stay right here,
even if they’re all that’s left.

(3/17/10)

* * *

Just let me keep digging the hole,
if it keeps me alive a little longer.
The people coming for me
hate me already. In a place like this,
when was the last time you felt good
about anything?

(3/18/10)

* * *

There is nothing left to bargain with—
we are asked to love a country that
does not love us, but love it we will.
We do not miss our fathers’ olive trees,
but we give them up in God’s name.

(3/19/10)

* * *

There will be no nation to hide behind,
no country to come to our aid—
we will never get that land back.

Chased by hounds, that’s all we’ll ever be.
You could have been my son, but a new pair
of shiny, clean boots will
have to make the difference.

(3/20/10)

* * *

:: For the Feast of Naw-Rúz ::

We can be seen by others, for we do not exist.
No one can identify who we are.
Others have a place on earth, at last,
but we have no more home
to go home to. But come to my house
across the river and break bread with me.

After the blood washes away,
the hills again become green.

(3/21/10)
[The Book of Hours project.]