Between Youth and Gray Hair
As soon as the revolutions of The Arab Spring started, I found myself committed to them as if I was one of their sons, and, therefore, I narrowed the subjects I write about to just one; the revolution. But, with the approaching of the New Year, I liked to have a short brake with myself and also with a subject that I always tried to ignore and avoid. Some how, It finally managed to become a poem.
Between Youth and Gray hair
When we were little, we imagined
Time would forget us in the middle of fun and toys
So we did play and have fun until we thought
That life was nothing but the happiness of childhood and the energy of youth
But when we looked one day in the mirror we found
That the face turned into a map and the hair became gray
We found that the sweetest taste of the gray hair is bitter
And that the map of the face as if it was drawn with spears
And that the soul became bloody with wounds
Every time it healed from a wound, was hit with another
From dear people who are deceased
To beloved ones whom we missed faraway
And from illnesses that colonized our bodies
Such as a pain here, aches there and depression
To a dream we lived for but never completed
And a hope that vanished before it
The difference between gray hair and youth is not only in spelling
But, rather, as the distance between the ground and the clouds
As the difference between future and past
And between saplings and fire wood
I don’t have any objection to God’s creation
As God is the ultimate giver and taker
Unless I believe in God’ wisdom
I would say that the gray hair is a punishment
And I would say to the one who sees nobleness in it
That he might have a sight problem
We don’t know any more what the future is hiding
Every passing day increases our infirmities
Our hearing needs repeating and our eyes need lenses
And the memory is as salt which is dissolved in water
Happiness doesn’t make us happy any more
Even holidays are like every thing else; leaving and returning
Fun picnics are not as fun as before
And the delicious food is not delicious, neither the drink
We now find every step difficult
We have to plan everything a thousand times ahead
Sleeping became the most valuable thing in our life
After it was just a duty we have to do
We never did imagine that a day would come when
We find sleeping the most precious and delicious
And here are our children who grew up and became almost adults
Just yesterday, they used to sleep in our lap
Just yesterday, they used to cry when they were hungry
And to run, laugh and hide behind the doors
We really didn’t pay attention how they grew up and made us old
They became taller than us while we were chasing the mirage of life
Life is nothing but a mirage
Every time we think we caught it, we only find sand
As soon as the children enter from the window of life
The journey starts for parents to leave by the door
We forgot that what goes from our life doesn’t return
And the passed days don’t come back
And that yesterday is now a history
And after today will pass, tomorrow will too
Only one thing doesn’t go, no matter how much we dye it
And as more as it increases, we get closer to the door
It is a fact that no one should forget
Unless he is already passed the door
***
Poetry by: Tarif Youssef-Agha
An expatriate Arab Syrian Writer & Poet
Houston, Texas
Friday January 6, 2012
http://sites.google.com/site/tarifspoetry