A long time ago Walad rubbed his eyes to mark the end of another long day of toil. He slipped under his blanket and felt the first wave of fatigue break over him when he heard a knock at the door. It took some effort to break out of sleep’s sweet embrace, but Walad managed it somehow. He threw a shawl over his shoulders as he ambled over to the door of his little cottage and opened it cautiously. An old man stood on his doorstep. He was dressed in robes of white and gray. His long flowing beard spoke to many years of wisdom and wise company. His eyes sparkled with a curious intelligence and a thick hood covered his head but for a lock of gray that floated down a high cheekbone and curled up into his beard. “I… am Sanad. I have journeyed four days from Alqaryah,” he said. Walad’s eyes went wide with excitement and he ushered the old man into his cottage and onto the only chair that occupied his living room. He then rushed into the kitchen and brewed a pot of tea for his guest. Walad poured out a cup for the old timer and enquired after his journey, for that was from the etiquette of receiving a weary traveler. He knew the old man must have news for him, but decided to wait until the news was dispensed at his guest’s own moment of choosing. The gray-haired Sanad took long sips of […]
Sung to the tune of Scarborough Fair (of course) Are you ready for Trump’s Muslim camps Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo I hear that they will honor food stamps And American Express too. Make me a gallon of cardamom tea Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo And bring me a slice of your creamiest brie Soft-ripened and served on a croute. Tell her to gather some brown paper bags Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo And make me a kufi that matches my rags Dyed in hues of red, white and blue. Hack me some bandwidth to skype with my fam Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo I’ll trade in my access to Amazon Prime All setup to auto-renew. Are you ready for Trump’s Muslim camps Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo I hear that they will honor food stamps And American Express too.
Once upon a trump In an old thick wood In the hollow of a stump Where an oak once stood Lived a colony of ants And their life was good And they all got along As well as they could. Now every trump That the rain would fall They would leave their stump And those ants would crawl To a big safe hill Made of mud and all And they had no fear For they had their wall. Was a great big wall For it went all round And it stood quite tall On the forest ground And it kept out all Other creatures bound For the stump in the middle That it did surround. When the rain would stop All the ants would jump Out the mud hilltop To descend with a whump Then a skip and a hop To their favorite stump Wherein they’d abide In a great big clump. It happened one trump That the rain fell long And the hill came down Did the ants so wrong So they went to their stump For their stump was strong But the roots of the oak Came loose like a song And they all spread out In many a throng. They marched to the wall In different rows In different ways As the story goes Till they all climbed up As the water rose Up the wall they wished Hadn’t touched their toes. Was a difficult trump For those ants in pain Oh to see their stump Fallen […]
It all begins up in the mountains as one gigantic mass of ice. An epic journey spanning an aeon begins with one drop. Soon, there’s a trickle, abandoning inertia, favoring movement over stillness. Movement. A river goes through a lot. It lets itself go. You may think it doesn’t know where it’s going. But it’s running, onward flowing, never looking back, never turning back, never stopping. It picks up a little something from everything it touches. Because a river knows that everything matters. A river welcomes other streams. That’s right, it never turns them away, because that is how it grows. And that’s how it flows, gushing down mountains, roaring, crashing, bending, breaking, and falling in its forward-rushing dance. A river is constant, It stays the course. And its constancy pays off because, in due time, it will cut through the hardest rock. It will slice into the oldest mountain, and it will carve a path for itself. All in due time. Onward flowing, only slowing its mad advance when it hits the plains. A river goes through a lot. And no matter how many times it crashes and bends and breaks and falls, it does not cease in its flow. A river just lets itself go. There are no tears in the life of a river. And that’s by definition. There is no place for regrets, for second tries, for going back. And that’s by definition. And all that hard work makes a river thirsty. That’s right, rivers get thirsty […]