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Poems by Edna Yaghi

Palestinian Am I
By: E. Yaghi

No one can take away from me
My identity,
For it is mine.
Palestinian am I.

I am the river that flows
Through my land.
I am the mountain
Noble and magnificent
Rising up out of chaos and destruction.

I greet the morning sun
That shines down on my fertile valleys
And parches my barren desert.

I am the red poppy and yellow daffodil
That grow upon my bloodstained hills.
I am the battle cry of freedom
That echoes through my corridors
And every fiber of my being.

Palestinian am I.
I am the proud owner of
Orange orchards and lemon blossoms
And honey bees, wild and free.

I am the Palestinian David child wielding a single stone
Against the Israeli Goliath.
I am not afraid,
For truth is with me and God is on my side.
If I die,
A choir of angels will honor me
And later, my parents will grasp my outstretched hand
And join me in Heaven.

I am the tears of
Mothers weeping for their dead sons.
I am the footsteps of ancient prophets
Who foretold of doom and destruction
To those who torture and oppress me.

My brethren are the doves, hummingbirds and seagulls
That fly unhindered above my sea.
I am Palestinian,
Therefore, I am.

No one can take my identity
Away from me,
Not tanks or guns or bombs
Meant to desecrate me and kill me.
My country lives in me.

I am the cry of liberty.
No matter what they take from me,
They can't take away my identity
Or my dignity.
Palestinian am I.

Farewell and Roses

Against the backdrop
Of the pallid sun
And drab gray houses,
He had told her
He no longer loved her.

It was as plain and simple
As that…stark, hard,
Smelling dank and foul.

The pink rose he neglected
To give her on her birthday
Lay crushed and broken
Against the gentle flakes
Of newly fallen snow.

She continued staring out
The large bay window
That separated her
>From the cold white
Drifting down like
The flutter of a swan's wings.

Never before had she fully
Comprehended the futility
Or suddenness of the world.
Not until his final goodbye.

Not until the soft white flakes
Fell upon the sharp thorns
Of the pink rose she had never received.

And though she knew
Somewhere a rainbow
With blue, yellow, red and purple hues
Arched undulating, smelling like
Promises and deep velvet,
Boasting of the beauty of the moment,
She also knew rainbows
Were not meant for such as she.

Warrior Poet

Knowing of my love for your people
Would you one day hang me
Under an old oak tree
Laughing off my swinging corpse
As the way things should be?

I wear my love
As a badge of courage
Though I have been discouraged
And crucified before.

I will show you
Nail marks on the palms of my hands
The wounds have healed now
But my blood still soaks arid sands,

Watering them with my despair
Because I was knave enough to care.
I am a shepherd of the field
I dine on what my prayers can yield.

I have no weapons to kill
If you will…
No guns or bows and arrows
Bear I…I walk upon the narrow

Streets and still waters
Fishing for men who believe,
For I grieve…

Your sorrow has become mine
And my eyes shine
With a light that blazes
A passageway through tomorrow.

I am a warrior-poet…
I fight battles with words
Which fly as strange birds
Into the darkness.

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Biographical sketch: I am a freelance writer and aspiring poet.

Edna Yaghi recommends:

Edgar Allen Poe by Edgar Allen Poe

Reason: Mr. Poe is a genius.

Recommendations for writers:

Write what you feel, do not write rhymes just to rhyme.



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