Hadi Atallah

Words always have 

a simple hiss in the distance. 

But their potency, magnitude 

and sheer odours expose the 

world and its receding tides.

…Some are attacked in the dark.

My breath made no sound. 

But I knew this was not invisible. 

Voices thundered in my ears and 

my eyes grew conscious of the 

Truth that lay outside of me. 

This is the unconscious. 

Humbled.

…Do you think an explanation would help?

Love is light with the darkest heart. 

A great hole knocked in the bottom. 

There’s an exchange of energy there. 

Where the waves and the shores give 

birth to a sun beyond the horizons. 

And a searing blaze comes to us for strength.

…It would not resist or even protest.

There is no note of sacrifice in a voice 

that brings on singing spells. 

And the night seems a little less dark, 

and to the West, there is a lightning in the sky. 

It throws a hard shadow into the mountain cleft. 

And the sleepers stir in their bed and awaken. 

Ochre yellow concentration aimed deliberately 

and fired. Late in the golden afternoon. 

Crusted with dried blood from human experience. 

We stand side by side watching a glorious place 

for a long time. The lights on its surface 

are red, orange and lovely.

…Only the good remain.

We’re still quarantined and I 

can only imagine the strike 

and rush of little waves  

on my favorite beach and 

their silent withdrawal. 

Where do they go? 

I don’t know. 

Humanity’s fate 

has a chance, 

nevertheless. 

…They joined the forefinger with thumb to show how great it was.