Medicine of the Real

What a kindness
she showers upon me,
not letting me skip any steps,
or leave not even one stone unturned.
What a mad trust she has
in this broken stumbling lover,
unwavering she ignores
my ramblings about limitations,
about my longing for a tiny bit of glitter.

You asked for freedom didn’t you, she whispers,
as she pours me another glass.
Drunk and bruised I crawl
to the table again and again.
Yes mother, more,
I give everything for just
one more sip of your exquisite
medicine of the real.


How Brave You Are

Poem by

How brave you are for slowing down

Mysteries, Yes

Poem by

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood

Shakti: Tiny Desk Concert

Video with

A reunion of the seminal Indian / European jazz fusion band for NPR's Tiny Desk Concert


Poem by

My mother is three years younger than Nakba

Hand of War

Poem by

From the series of Palestinian poets

My desperate and sad prayer

Poem by

I pray for Israel, I pray for Palestine

Galoba (The Prayer)

Video with

Trio Mandili is a Georgian vocal group, here they perform a piece entitled "The Prayer"

The Ant, the Grasshopper, and the Antidote to the Cult of More

Article by

A Lovely Vintage Illustrated Poem About the Meaning and Measure of Enough

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