Site icon Read A Little Poetry

Mountain, Stone by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha

Header PostFeaturedImage 06
Mountain, Stone
by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha

Do not name your daughters Shaymaa,
courage will march them
into the bullet path of dictators.

Do not name them Sundus,
the garden of paradise calls out to its marigolds,
gathers its green leaves up in its embrace.

Do not name your children Malak or Raneem,
angels want the companionship of others like them,
their silvery wings trailing the filth of jail cells,
the trill of their laughter a call to prayer.

Do not name your sons Hamza.
Do not taunt the torturer’s whip
with promises of steadfastness.

Do not name your sons
Muhammad     Ahed     Zakaria     Ismail,
they will become seashells, disappear in the sand.

Do not name your children. Let them live
nameless, seal their eyelids
and sell their voices to the nightingale.

Do not name your children
and if you must
call them by what withstands

this endless season of decay.
Name them mountains,
call them stone.

KEEP READING
Water & Salt by Lena Khalaf TuffahaSOURCE

This poem appeared in Water & Salt by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha, published by Red Hen Press, 2017. Shared here with deep gratitude.

DESCRIPTION

“Lena Khalaf Tuffaha’s debut, Water & Salt, sings in the voices of people ravaged by cycles of war and news coverage. These poems alternately rage, laugh, celebrate and grieve, singing in the voices of people ravaged by cycles of war and news coverage and inviting the reader to see the human lives lived beyond the headlines.”

ENDNOTES
DEAR READER

This little corner of the world is my passion project since 2005My commitment is that it will always remain free to all. If this place holds meaning for you, would you consider supporting it? This can be in the form of a cup of coffee (+ other ways).

 

Note that Read A Little Poetry may receive a small commission if you make a purchase through any links on this site. It is at no additional cost to you and helps in the upkeep of this space.

 

Thank you for being here all these years—and into the future—as I hold poets to the light.

Exit mobile version