Lost childhood

I feel such a pain within me

Hiding in my bones

in the depth of my heart


When this pain awakens

I start crying and crying



I become as sensitive

as a quiet body of water

shaken by the slightest breeze


Each word each thought

starts cutting through my chest

and the node in my throat pulsates

with tears


Where does all this pain come from, I’m left wondering

A frightening pain that scares people around me

Where does all this pain come from?


When this wound bares

I reminisce of the lost past

of when my parents were my age

and I still was a child

a lost past of harmony and simple joys

of chimney fires at night and ash emptying at dawn

of long and cold winter and thundery days of March

of a pile of wood logs under the house and insistent winds

of a village life in my great grandfather’s house

oh, those were happy times, happy times

when three generations of elders were here to protect and love me

here to ensure the continuity and bear the responsibility of life on their shoulders

I loved being a thoughtless child among them

still believing in the magic of life

and my parents so young they were almost as playful as I was



As I write these words

I feel a warmth spreading

in my bleeding heart


I realize there is a lot to write about

a lot to heal

I remember the orange glowing crescent moon of September nights

And the harsh melody of November seas while sleeping

And the splattering rains and the warm teas

I remember the snails going out their holes

in the dampness of the soil

The winged flower seeds that smiled in white

as the soil grew drier and the spring grass taller

and my excitement in finding them each day

and blowing them to the four winds

And how I kept on checking on the violet flowers progress

that’d later yield the winged seeds

and my marvel before the tall date-palm trees

and the tiny blue flowers attracting butterflies close to the mint bush

and the fell dates on the paved floor

and the little house of stone I had once built during two years and later disappeared

and the large lemons cut in thick slices and spiced with salt

eaten under the lemon trees with parents and grandfather and great grandfather

oh, why all these times are no more

why does time passes

why couldn’t I remain a child

a blissful child