#delafil

[delafilpoetry]

This is a tormenting farewell.

I am leaving you in the care of god.

You are not to be mine.

Our names crossed each other’s pages but we didn’t remain on all of them.

You‘ll forever be my most painful but also my favourite chapter.

The only way we’ll see each other again is when you dare to cross my mind.

You might be my naseeb in another life.

But in this one we don’t belong to each other.

I am letting you go.

—Delafil

[delafilpoetry]

Laid my hopes in you

like they used to lay children into the Euphrates.

Most times they drowned

and got lost before they were even close to their destination.

How will I ever mourn and move on?

When I will always be uncertain

about them reaching the riverside.

—Delafil

[delafilpoetry]

My mother braids my thick brown hair, as if she is holding on to a part of her identity in this foreign country. And she tells me tales of her childhood and how she used to collect hazelnuts in the colour of my curls.

—Delafil

[delafilpoetry]

I stood up, opened my eyes

And erased your memories

Which were lingering upon the edges

Of my eyelashes.

And I took the ferry,

Sat beside the window

And erased your name.

Your name which was echoing through my thoughts

Like the waves of the sea.

And even the sun rays noticed my grief,

Trying to find a beam of happiness-

Caressing my face with their warmth.

But they cannot give me back what you took.

And just like Rudy Francisco said,

I only ever write when I’m falling in love

Or falling apart.

I did not have the time to fall.

All I have is your absence

And the bitter cold of an April morning.

—Delafil

[delafilpoetry]

I open the book of myths and force the pages to hand me the words.

My medicine is hidden below the pages of the paragraphs. Telling ancient stories.

About how Layla left Majnun and Romeo who died for Juliet.

But what happens if love visits you on a winter night and leaves you nothing but sorrow and memories

Memories.

Dark brown eyes.

Rusty voice.

Height as tall as a tree.

Loving never healed me,

Pain opened my heart.

Poetry became the meaning.

Feelings were deceiving.

—Delafil

[delafilpoetry]

I dreamt I saw an olive tree

Its leaves told me ancient stories

Stories about the children playing in the sand.

And I saw Jerusalem from another perspective

As if a bird took my sight

And flew to the holy city

Not even the smell of Damascus was sweeter.

I dreamt I saw an olive tree.

And the sound of peace was louder than the sound of guns.

People were throwing roses to welcome each visitor.

Ana falastini, my grandfather said when the visitors arrived

I am Palestinian

I dreamt I saw an olive tree.

In its shade my mother,

My brother and my sisters.

A calming breeze from the east

And a white horse.

I dreamt I saw an olive tree.

And I woke up,

drenched in sweat

Realising it was only just a dream.

The war goes on,

so does the occupation

And they do not only hold our ancestors hostage

But also the olive trees.

—Delafil

[delafilpoetry]

Softness was a language, my lovers were never fluent in.

—Delafil

[delafilpoetry]

I beg you,

Take away the words,

And with them the meaning.

Take away the rhythm

And all that’s deceiving.

Had I found a place

to call my peace of mind.

Wouldn’t every night be filled

With words I try to find.

Not even an umbrella

Would shield me from the rain,

Had I not vowed to become a writer,

Endure and write down all the pain.

It is not only mine

That I carry with me

A burden much bigger

Than any nationality.

A burden much deeper,

Than the separating sea.

And I reassure myself

God’s promise is true.

Had I not believed and trusted.

Would I have ever met you?

And the rhythm shackles me,

I would never dare to run away.

From a suffering so beautiful.

That my mind turns into a place of fray.

—Delafil