-im Arab, six

i'mArabsix

i’m Bedouin blood
i’m not offended when you tell me
you’re not welcome here
that is a given

W.E.

Slur your face off,
rant your head off,
pop your jugular with insults,
tell me i don’t belong,
to go back to my country, to pack my bags,
my heart’s unchanged,
I’m going, not because you said,
but because my blood calls.
My ankles long for red earth,
my breast for sand dust,
my eyes for Kohl,
and tongue waits for the parch,
I’m silent here anyway
at least over there, my silence  is poetry.
-W.E.

-closed season

closed season

I’ve long dwelled in the loins of a desert
so excuse me if I’m incensed
when you take my sacred
and make it a tourist destination

-W.E.

for too long, you butcher the idea of me,
of them
of others
because it suits your imagination
because you want the sexual romp of an escape
a harem in the absence of everything
just you and your lover
a mirage
an illusion created by the west
but sold by the dogs of oil
because it’s hard to palate how we remain beautiful in the harshest environment.
-W.E.

Australia day: A celebration of genocide

Emotional-Bride-wedding-haka-feat-FB-600x315

 

I don’t veer into politics much, but when it is turmoiled with such a tragic day of shamelessness, I feel compelled to speak up.

I’m as alpha as males come, but this fucking ripped me. Mesmerisingly the most beautiful ceremony I have ever seen…. fucking ever!

I wish more Australians appreciated culture in general and I wish once and for all this whole country would shut the fuck up and just listen….. the world has stories to tell, they’re ancient, the world is ancient. Australia is ancient. It is not two hundred and eighteen years old, any child who learns about Aboriginal heritage will be able to fill you in, adults though, a strange amnesia hangs over their heads in perpetual dark clouds.

In three days the nation will shamefully celebrate a monstrous atrocity.

We hail the name of a lying crook, a thieving peasant, a murdering, pillaging remnant of a human who was then raised to high status by her royal bitch, the Queen of putridness.

This shameful day I don’t celebrate. I might find a corner to mourn in, to share warmth with brethren who are hurt by this gesture, to cloak them in anything, serve a cup of tea, a word of sorrow…. anything but celebration.

I know the ceremony is meant to celebrate union and love, but there can be no love in a relationship culture-less and void of heritage. It just made me reflect on all cultures of the world and their various ceremonies, and more importantly Aboriginal heritage and culture, their ceremonies, their dances and how we’re so fucking racist after all this time, that a small cultural gesture scares the fuck out of a nation of tough guy footballers. The nation loses it’s mind over a cultural dance and spear throw, in the words of Aamer Rahman, their fake white feelings were hurt by a fake spear throwing’, so fucking fake Australia…. so poignant a reaction. I guess being fake, you recognised something and it hit a nerve.

Two hundred and eighteen years is not a culture and there are still people who cannot comprehend this. Let’s hope it doesn’t take another two hundred and eighteen to repent and pay penance.

But for now, cry as I did from this video…. Amazing…..

Watch the video first…. then read the words underneath the video of what the Haka translates to.

 

Pay attention
Listen up, take your stance!
Hi!
Arms outstretched,
out and back!
Kss Kss

What is right is always right!
In – deed!
What is right is always right!
Ah… yes!

Be true to yourself, my son!
My concerns have been raised about you, so pay attention!…. .
What is this problem you are carrying?
How long have you been carrying it for?
Have you got that? Right, let’s go on.

So son, although it may be difficult for you
and son, although it seems to be unyielding
no matter how long you reflect on it
the answer to the problem
is here inside you.
Indeed! Indeed! Indeed! Yes, indeed!

Source: http://www.folksong.org.nz/tika_tonu/

Nobility of Bedouins.

image

As he argued and debated on, he was met with an unfamiliar silence from his opponent. Never before was he defeated so gracefully.
“Cat got your tongue?” he yelled across the dinner table. Shamed and red-faced guests turned their gaze towards the insulted.

He was there, invited, as a formality of hospitality, the dignified thing families of prestige do when a marriage proposal walks through the door. The young man was unknown, of no formal royalty or family of status. The polite way of refusal was to invite them to a first and final dinner where the suitor would be ridiculed intellectually and demoralised spiritually as he would be met by a fury of wit and cruelty lashed in literary prowess.

After being met with a onslaught of words, poetry and prose, wity belittlement, his head lifted from the bowed neck position he maintained, a sign of his impeccable nomad training, training of the ancient Arabs that was all but forgotten as the city he resided in was modernised with the attire, technology and culture of the British invaders, poised as businessmen trying to advance a backward nation. He smiled sincerely, affectionately as if he read right through the pain of the father, his fears of letting his precious first child and only daughter go to someone unknown,  someone unlike him, unlike his friends, a dust faced nomad.

His gaze pierced right into the heart of her father as he quietly said, ‘Uncle, I am no match for your intellect and charm, I am but a desert nomad, enshrined in the cloak of our people of past, clinging tightly to our heritage in hope to pass it on to our sons untainted. I have fought battles for you and our people and my guard is lowered before you, I dare not rise to your elucidation, and impeccable speech.

Forgive me, your generosity and hospitality is unsurpassed but I have overstayed my welcome and must leave.’

The father grinning from ear to ear rose and loudly proclaimed ‘Nonsense! You will do no such thing and my daughter will marry no other man, come and sit nearby me oh eloquent of tongue and noble of lineage. If Arabs have any dignity left it will only survive with men like you, men whom I wish all the daughters of men like me to find and wed. Our people will only be given back their honour through the likes of you. Come, near me you will sit.’

End part 1
ME