Silent Noise /By Nora M. Barghati​

 

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When the panic
subsides
and the thud
thud
thudding
of this
-storm beaten
little bird –
heart of mine
quiets
down
my ears
deaf
to all that is around
hear no sound.
yet
in the mute stillness
of hushed moans
and silent cries
I hear
what can only be heard
in the quietness
of sealed lips
and closed eyes.

I hear the flowers
bud
at the break of dawn
as the baby upstairs
sleeps
I hear the sprinklers
flood
the thirsty lawn
as into the earth
water seeps.

I hear gray clouds
part
and dew drops pop
under the sun’s gaze
I hear my brain
kick start
as a teaspoon of sugar
melts
in my coffee’s brownish haze.

I hear the neighbors across the street
kissing
and their
lazy one eyed cat
licking
its paws
I hear that one voice
I have been missing
and I find myself wishing
that what once has been
never was.

In the silent noise
I hold my poise
with the grace
of a manic still.
© 2015 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)
Art taken from Pinterest

 

 

 

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Two Sleepy Heads / by Nora M. Barghati

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The moon
round and bright
shines it’s light
through an open window
upon the two sleepy heads inside.

A little boy’s hand
tender and small
cups the curve
of his mothers shoulder.

Her lips
soft and warm
break his fall
into the world of dreams
with a kiss.

 

© 2017 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)
Image Courtesy of Google

 

 

الــوطــن / لنورا البرغثي

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تبا لوطن اسكنه
ولا يسكنني منه
سوا ذكرى ايام مضت
لم يبقى منها
سوى اطلال واشباح
وطن يكون فيه منتهى الراحه والهناء
ساعة اضافيه من الكهرباء
تتأمل فيها
تحت اضواء مصابيح النيون
التي يغطيها روث الذباب
وتغشاها اتربه ايام غبراء
خطوط وجهك الكئيب
الذي سكنه البؤس
واضناه الشقاء
تبا لوطن يمتص منك الحياة
لوطن ملوث النفوس
والهواء والماء
وطن تتجرع منه الذل
و ينهرك هو بعلياء
الم اطعمك التراب و الموت”
يأبن الكلب
“يأبن الجبناء؟
ثم يبصق في وجهك
و يدهس مابقي من انسانيتك
تحت الحذاء
“فتجد نفسك عاريا في “بلاد الكفر
تستجدي وطنا
   .يأويك برد الشتاء
© 2017 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)
Image courtesy of Google

Deliverance / by Nora M. Barghati

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While scrolling my facebook homepage yesterday morning, I came across this painting, and for a moment I felt my heart stop. It is by Syrian/Kurd Artiest and newly made friend Zuhair Hassib.
In a comment I made on his post; I asked about the painting’s name, and in a unexpected, humbling, and albeit slightly unnerving gesture of kindness he asked me to give it a name.  Almost two days passed, and still I find myself at loss for a name that is able to convey the emotions it conjured within me.


Two weeks after my father was assassinated, I gave birth to my second son, and one day during those two weeks I wrote: 
“Standing balancing myself over a thin line, the divide slicing through life, cutting it in half, death and birth. One foot in the world of darkness, the other in the world of light.”


Darkness was all around me, it was pushing my children and my husband away. It grew and swelled up like the puffy belly of a roadkill left to rot on the side of a highway, it reeked of anger and desperation, and it demanded time.
Losing my father the way I did, separated from my family who were caught in throws of war, and ISIS making home right next door, left the first two years of my second son’s life in a blur.  I don’t know how they went by, but I do know why.

They went by because the world of light and life to which my two boys belong; shone upon my darkness, and I was able to see once more. It was with them, through them, for them, that I began to live again. 
Children do not ask to be born into the cruelty of this world, their tenderness and innocence strikes a sharp contrast to the reality of how ugly and unjust it can be, yet they bare it, and weather its storms better then the toughest of us. And if we are open enough to learn, to understand, to be enlightened, we would see that it is to their vulnerability that mountains kneel, and to their pure souls that the gates to the heavens open wide.


We think that it is us who protect and guard our children, but in reality I think it’s the other way around, and that it’s them who are our saviors. My children were mine, they were my deliverance.
Therefore and in honer of all the little angles out there delivering us from the pits of darkness I name the painting “Deliverance”. In the hope that Mr. Zuhair Hassib accepts it.

 

© 2017 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)

Art by Zuhair Hassib 

A Golden Hour / by Nora M. Barghati

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The sun
I learned
is good for the soul
I make it a point
to bask in it’s lazy heat
when my soul is soaked
with tears
Its light
illuminates the darkness
and stills my fears
watching a sole white cotton sheet
hanging on the clothesline
swaying in the breeze
I feel my hurt
wash out
as I slowly slip
into a moksha
a state of lucid calm
tender and sublime.

© 2017 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)
Image courtesy of Google

Thinking out loud

When writing, like breathing, is of vital importance to one’s being, then the subject matter of what is being created is inconsequential.
The process and the out come, and what they represent or do not represent, are of no significance, as he (The Writer) only strives for the release.

Sanctuary / by Nora M. Barghati

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Come on in child
hang your coat at the door
I know you’re hungry
I know you’re tired
have I seen your face before?
 
Come on in
my dear
nothing here to fear
come on in
grab a seat
pull it close to the fire
warm your fingers
and tired feet
 
I know
I know it has been tough
my Love
and that you have been walking a long road
your palms of leather
are callused and rough
you have been carrying
a heavy load
 
Come on in
the night is falling
and I can hear your heart
calling
for a warm embrace
and a tender touch
Come
rest your weary head
upon my bed
It’s not much
I know
small and old
but the world outside
is dark
and people have gone cold
their hearts
covered in snow
 
 
As the stars shine bright
bathing your face
in moonlight
I will tell you a fairy-tale
of how love conquers all
and goodness and faith
prevail
‘Till in the arms of sleep
my angel
you fall
 
And while you sleep
I’ll sing you a lullaby
of dreams coming true
by and by
hush my baby
don’t you cry
I’ll be your shelter
I’ll be your home
I’ll keep you safe
I’ll keep you warm
No longer shall you wander
My Child
No longer shall you roam
 
© 2010 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)
Art Love and Pain  by Edvard Munch, also  called Vampire.