Kholoud Soliman
Jeddah. Saudi Arabia

( 1 )

Mama, I'm sorry.
Since you left I never had the chance
to finish what you started
your room is still the same.
Remember your photo album,
I didn't get the chance to rearrange
Remember your plants,
I forgot to water them.
Those old curtains you wanted to change
and the wallpaper, they are still there.
to till you the truth,
I didn't even enter your room again.
Mama, still I'm sorry
I just want to hear your gentle voice
saying don't worry.

( 2 )

The yellow curtain standing in the upstairs room,
I used to play with as a kid,
still standing waiting for that kid.
It waited and waited, long long time.
The vicious dust climbed it,
No one enters the room.
Watching days and nights alone.
Still standing in silence waiting for the kid
The strings are getting older and the dust is
Getting heavier and the curtain can't bear waiting.
One morning, the door opened and a kid came
running through, he wanted to play,
but the yellow curtain has gone away.

( 3 )

No apple pie for me today.
The fat baker smiled at me from behind the
blurred glass.
All kinds of cakes and pies were there,
fresh baked.
You ask me why do I care so much about food,
It is an attitude
towards myself towards whoever.
I have no oven to bake my own apple pie
But surly I have a fridge to keep millions
of apples.
Smiling back to the fat baker
The taste of the cinnamoned juicy thing
hunts my mouth and I swallow . . .Nothing.
City number 1:
Hide your kids between your legs
Can you feel the blood running?
Walking beside the wall of the sacred city
I'm so sacred too
It would fall on my head
I meant the far away cloud
City number 2:
What a trader would do with a broken head?
Kids and feet were playing ball one lazy evening
Wanted to play
But I have no feet
Would arms do?
City number 3:
My Mothers crossed the street
Tightening their dresses between their legs
As something might drop.
Their white fat knees were shown . . .smiling
At night they were all asleep
When a moon..
Began telling its story.

( 4 )

Between the mill stones
They sat round the tables… chatting.
A grill's smell toured around the noses,
but they ignored it.
She told me her name was TINA . . .
"Hello" and "Nice to meet you" . . .
Our faces painted with ..little pride..
Little racism . … and tablespoon of dullness.
"The boys are fixing their makeup," he told us through his narrow eyes. . . as I took a sip of the swimming pool.
"Too humid..!" she said, took off her glasses and threw them in my lap.
A fancy vane turkey appeared trotting among us..
"This is TINA your majesty," her father was proud.
I hid myself under the stone. . and took my nails off.
Nothing is itchy anymore.

( 5 )

God bless the beautiful city of mine
where land splits in two
as visions of the holy corps come true.
Inside my mind
there is a dead nigro
a cross eyed solicitor…….
a blind womb.
I said "don't close your eyes while driving,
I've had enough crashes this day."
So they closed a tomb
upon me…….and
let me alone .. thinking
how to fight darkness.
With a single shoot he hit the target…which
Was between my eyes and his.
of mine
of imagination.
Note: poems written between, 1999 and 2000.

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