Abir Zaki
(Saudi Arabia)

A Lesson to be learned...
nature swam upon great waves
crashing upon eastern lands
destroying man, woman, and child
cries were heard with fearful fright
followed by silence in endless night…
a deep breath
sunk into the fear itself
standing firmly
in “who” you are
and “what” you are
and blew to listen
that was made by your sound…
against the wind a voice was heard
in a soft whisper yet once again
enlightening of our own making
giving a lesson  to guard this precious gift of life
and learn to live with each other without strife
for this disaster was made by man’s un-spoken knife…
walking by quietly
hearing the cries of choice
pausing to look
thinking how frail and breakable
a man is
in a silent tear
rolled down
and couldn’t speak...
now it is time
to let go
let this be a lesson
to those alive
let it be a warning
and give birth to new dreams
…………………to mankind...
Thank you Tsunami…



A Silent Voice….

Abir  Zaki

Alas! ! !
Mothers of Palestine and of Iraq
Mothers of Sabra and Shatila
of Guatemala, of Nicaragua
of Colombia, and Bolivia…
Mothers of Peru
Mothers of Soweto, of Thule
Mothers of Eskimo, of Pashtu
Mothers of the hunger-striking Kurds
and Mothers of Israel....

They silenced your melody
and make you sing in misery..

They want you to
sing in grief, pain and fear
and visit your loved ones in prisons in tear...

They want you to
count the bullets passing by your window
and bury your children under the rubbles of your mellow...

They want you to
have nightmares of flames and destruction
and cry for your loneliness and dreams for construction
enduring poverty, humiliation and degradation...

Mothers of Eternal Grace, be happy
in this so called MOTHER’S DAY! ! ! !
I am wrapped and enriched by the silence
my silence permits the massacre of an entire people(s) …
my silence is prize for the injustice and the oppression…
my silence is against human rights
against children rights and animal rights,
and even nature's right
my silence sacrifices embryos that are not yet born
my silence is hypocrisy…
….......................is unjust…
…………………....is inhuman...

And all what I can offer you
the MOTHER above all MOTHERS
in this Mother's Day,
.........................is my SILENCE!
for your tears fall like razor sharp
stabbing deep down my silent heart
with everlasting

And You Call Me a Feminist...!

Neither like French
who play liberal and tolerant
nor like the Marxist
who sexed me radical and essential
nor like a Barbie
or the woman you want me to be…

Like women everywhere,
I expose
but change differently
filled with hidden treasures
for eyes to see
the wrong and the rights
the sins and the virtue
the obedience and the rebel
the veiled and the uncovered…

In my truth lies the timeless reality
changing my attitudes and ideas
for whatever I am is never enough
as long as the mortal sin of righteous
and extremes exists…!

I’m unequally equaled
for in the depth of my soul
lies the true me
with all my
shamelessness and boldness
insolence and impudence
wantonness and wickedness,
and with all my
devious immorality…

I wonder how you perceive me
when you see my face
or hear the words I speak
or read the words I inscribe
a woman of strength or pain?
a woman of love or who is lost?
or a woman who scares
and confuses you
with her words?

Or perhaps you do not see me at all
the woman of affection
who has felt pain
who gets lost within her thoughts?
the one who is proud to be
a woman of many things
for it shows that I am alive
I see me for who I am
but needs to find air
for I am barely breathing…

Because I am who I am

Bitter Taste…

When the treacherous East begins to color
with a rosy red morn
another day is born
in a purple dress with flowers
a little girl in sandals is walking
as the birds pour their joyous songs
on the muttering trees
Free …
where she, a life long slave, must be
caged in her harvesting coffee
for the princes’ commerce and makers of law to… spree…

laboring from morn till dark
robbed of her sleep and play
forgotten how to sing and smile
her rights unprotected
beneath the branches of the red beans
picking with her nimble hands
outpacing her parents’ … dreams…

her voice is unheard
leaving her to low pay
not daring the long hours,
the dangerous conditions
the hot temperature
the overexposure to sun
that affect her health and safety for … free…


and I,
with every sip of
the bitter taste
of my cup
at the expense of her lost …dreams…………

But SHE is never a loser...

When her torch burns and sings,
She is a Goddess…
When she is vicious and vindictive,
She is a Harridan…
When she is holy and pure,
She is a Virgin…
When she gets angry at them,
And rediscovers herself,
She is a Feminist…
When she takes him for better and worse,
She is a Wife…
When she calms his hurricanes,
And soothes his passion,
She is a Lover…
When she sacrifices herself,
She is a Mother…
When she finds happiness in solitude,
She is a Spinster…
When she prays, begs, and pleads,
She is a Nun…
When she walks in the streets,
And earns at night,
She is a Lady of Pleasure…
When she wears a red dress,
With a purple hat,
And sits on pavements,
To take a breath
She is an old lady…

But SHE is never a loser, never a failure…

That's what she is,
That's how she is,
Simple and Plain…

Chatting With The Moon...

I was provoked with the moon in a delicious chat
'Let them fear the power that gave them live'
Tenderness …Affections
Ablaze with secret delight
of knowing the power of womanhood…

She has been surrounded by her inner being
With some charm, elegance, and humor
She may be hidden, but certainly present
She thinks, works, invents, discovers
In strife, she gains strength
In oppression, she knows her right
Searching always for the Self, unexposed
The power of her darkest secrets
Her glances flashes across her mascara
To paint her mystery and mystique…

Let the silence of her voice outcry
For they had stolen her womanhood
They humiliated her for the tongue she had
They persecuted her for her believes
They circumcised her sexuality
They killed in her womanhood
And forbade her to express her condolences…

She was expected to submit to them
To support them
As a daughter, sister, wife, and mother
To learn knitting, and entertaining
Look pretty and nothing else…

They were preparing her grave
Threatening her to feel the passionate blood
Under her soft skin
Forbidding her to touch her breasts of power…

They forgot that when God created the universe
He created her to create the human kind
He made her the mother of the earth
The mistress of the moon
The passion of the sun
And the tenderness of the air
He made her
The balance of the world…

Freedom I Shout!

like my poems
using no grammar
nor punctuation
like a free verse
which do not rhyme…

like a captive bird
takes a flight
for a life denied
has just begun…

unlike my noblest dream
which is often lost
for my own good refrains
they cry by…

for I am enslaved,
my freedom taken away
from me
in the name of moral right….

no right to choose,
nor to decide,
no right to sin
nor to virtue…

freedom I shout…!
my binding chains
must be undone
to reach out and touch
the spirit of my golden
moments gone by…

whispers fill my heart
stirring in passion
teaching me the way
to carry on
my battle of freedom
not for the freedom which isn't free
I shout for the freedom that’s free

The Heart of the Ocean...

My Master,
Remember that
I am Athena, Danu, Isis, Kali, Rhea, Venus,
And many, many others
Each of them still resides in my heart
They serve as vehicles of
And love…

Remember that
I can be as focused as Circe
Giving as Demeter
Sapience as Athena
Creative as Bridget
Serene as Selene,
Seductive as Aphrodite
And Chaotic as Eris...

My Master,
Remember that
My beauty is not the mascara, or my lipstick
My beauty is in the heart of the oceans
Where my deep secrets reside
Where Maria, the Goddess of Ocean, dwells…

The Lolita in You…

Is it your age?
Is it your wrinkles and gray hair?
Or is it the stage when you want
to make some change?
Or is it your exquisite charm,
and ingenious turn of phase?

Or is it the winter sleep?

I can sense the Lolita in you
Like a drug, more powerful than any
Discovered or devised…

You have been possessed by her spell
By her light in your life
Obsessed by the fire in your loin
By its sweetness that trembles the flames in your heart...

You have entered her garden
To taste the plums she offered
But my friend,
Was it really sweet
Or sour sweet what you have obtained?

My friend,
Like a child who takes a doll
And threw its head away
You took advantage of her disadvantage
And use that in sway...
You smelled her fragrance
Which was still kept in petals
And you tasted the plum
Which you threw its kernel away…

And now, you are
Like a lonesome plum tree
Which is still blooming in the early spring
To dream…

The Shoeshine Boy…*

This is not a story
Nor a poem
Just a little boy’s

Bless you little man
Red lipped, cheek of tan…

A face filtered
with sunlight
a heart that pumps
while whistling with joy
health, knowledge, sleep and food
are words he hears from the folks…

Winding the leather all day
shining shoes fore and aft
while sitting on my medieval throne
looking at him
making a living in his rat race
giving him some advice
whereas the rag in his hands
for years that passed
polished his ideal boyhood
in the world where bullshitters and doers
have been divided at his charge…! !

The Woman in Veil…

The façade,
fear, and hate…

precious spirit
verdant soul
and warmth…

They think it is easy to cast off her veil
and forget that she's
the virgin,
the bride,
the elder,
and the Goddess…

They belittle her as a woman
the powerful,
the mysterious,
the frustrated,
the practical and the shy…

They connect her to the Hell's flame,
and for the first sin
and never knew with their engaging masks
of tradition, costumes and believes
all they see, the veil
to beguile and reassure them…

Alas! !
they must carry the blame…
they forgot that
when Flowers blossom
fruits grown
their beauty, nectar, and fragrance
are her own…

they forgot
the fortune of knowledge,
of music
of all harvest and crops
is her grace
flowing and resting from every nest...

they forgot
behind the plough
of the fields
all the greenery
is when she sowed the seed…

and the most of all
they did forget
that for her longing, and
her spiritual union
and her communion
found where their heart belong
and their words became poetry
and to songs…....

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