The significance of shibh
This clearing in the sand,
over here –
Stamped with the imprint of your feet,
I carry with me across the seas,
as I traverse worlds
that separate themselves with songs of dissonance,
and the architecture of upheaval,
imaginary differences
inscribed on the map of the world
by cartographers who sit in libraries,
never setting foot on the sand.
Sinai,
this slice of the earth’s pie which hangs on,
a peninsula –
shibh jazira and not
jazira
Were it an island,
it would have cleaved in two Africa and Asia,
East and West,
us and them.
But it holds on, tenuously perhaps
staying put despite the threat of a hundred wars
and the political will of buffoons
who mistake beastliness for grandeur.
In these hands I hold the dough
that stitches together
the miasma of our division.
I knead it carefully, eschewing
the deft fingers of my grandmothers,
shaping it into an imperfect disc.
The baker slaps it onto a stoneware plate
nestled in the “V” of a fire of coals and sticks,
burning away the stench of you versus me.
We tear the bread in two, then four, then six
and dip it into bowls of olive oil and salt,
dropping steaming mouthfuls on parched lips
that long for the coolness of water.
Now sing to me again that song of separation,
and show us the cracks in your tenor.