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