Mom Poem by Mohamed Khalfouf

Identification:

Mom:

The first woman in my life!

The first to teach me feminism without the need for a book or a lecture

Mom:

The first two eyes my eyes see...

Mom..

I am your son, whom you delivered in 1997

I am the eldest of the three brothers who are not alike,

And the least of them share of love,

Most of them are tired...

Mom..

Do you still remember my name?

Do you still remember the first milk tooth fell out of me?

And my desire to be a superhero, and to be a great poet like Mahmoud Darwish?

Momy

Do you remember, or did time make you lose your memory?

And make you lose hair the color of the sun,

and a body that brought down the men of a city from the workers? ? ?

When I saw you taking care of us, I used to curse married life and sanctify motherhood...

I was young and did not understand women's rights, nor feminism... What I knew was that you were: my mother...

***

Fear:

Mom..

Life haunts me with a rusty gun...

Mom..

This city wants to steal my shadow...

Mom..

My inbox is full of threatening letters...

Mom..

The wolf lurks under my bed waiting for me to sleep...

Mom..

The eid passed without congratulations from anyone! ! !

Did you fall out of their time? !

Was it inadvertently, intentionally, or by statute of limitations? ?

I hate holidays because they remind me of loneliness.

I hate the night because it reminds me of sadness, the harlot, the orphan child...

Mom..

This night is long and sad,

This poem is stupid.

It lacks the joy,

It lacks romance...

But I hate romantics, party poets and obsolete ideologies...

I believe that the poem is an honorable prostitute who does not sell her words to half-poets...

***

Desire:

I don't want this poem to end.

Mom..

I don't want this poem to end.

And I want this poem to end!

Because it's easy to be a dictator,

But it's hard to write a poem...

I think during the poem:

Do you deserve my mother a poem?

Mom, I don't want this poem to end.

But the light in my room is a sign that I'm still alive.

and that my heart is still inside my chest,

And that the old homeland is still fit for consumption...

***

Questions:

Mom..

How do I become a famous poet?

How do I get a Nobel?

How do I sleep with a thousand women without the need for Viagra?

How do I save my friends from death?

How do I know that God loves me?

How was the Middle East rebuilt?

How do I commit suicide without pain?

***

Resolution:

Mom..

I will lock the door of my room so that the world will not enter into me,

I will stop drinking coffee.

And standing on the porch naked,

And feeling the lump on my neck,

And stop masturbation,

And writing poetry - perhaps because you are the most beautiful of my poems,

I will love God, and I will stop mentioning him in my poems...

And I will buy a wall clock to know the time of my death...

I will do everything to be a good citizen.

And now,

before you ascend to heaven:

to meet God,

To meet my grandmother, who death months before I was born.

I want to tell you:

I love you...Mom!