on a quiet lunch with friends
we talk in endless swings
devouring the taste of words
frown at the face of the future
& turning to my surroundings
strangers in distant tables
in their quiet mumbling words
all around me are worlds
of its own, a taste to savour
in someone’s eyes and skin
every walk of life is breathing
of flames & ices & air
I must be a ghost – to think
so afar of my own body –
to live afar from my country
a mental plane to foreign lands
eavesdropping on conversations
of different languages & souls
stretching my tongue to the sky
of tales & tears of others
I listen to the Moon’s cries
the eternal boast of the Sun
the lasting promises of lovers
the cries of children in Palestine
the beating of our earth’s heart
before returning to my body.