The Absence of Words
It all started with vague thoughts;
an incessant mental noise containing
abstract words, symbolizing nothing.
I cease writing as ink and parchment
denies pairing. Hours pass like ghosts,
taunting. I feel their sting of regularity.
Restored into mental silence, all that
remains is the strength of fuzzy memories
I led them,
words ordained
with vigor, into
the dust-choked
desert, to embody
the unknown.
I led them,
while days drip
emptiness, and
nights vomit bitterness,
and prayers wilt
bone-dry lips.
I led them,
behind belfry doors
I heard them and in
the turbulence of
incense I felt them
filtering through.
I led them,
not a crust is wasted
as my name is carried
on a plaintive wind to
the edge of revelation,
no defeat! no victory!
Words, each letter embroidered in gold,
prolong the musicality of internal rhythms.
In an instant intimacy, they cast the way
without a sense of vacancy, into the labor
of life; turn the whirl of shattered pieces,
giving them legacy and love in between.
Words do not wither like grass, look for
scraps of food like exiles, nor thirst a
drink like a parched land. Words, the last
ember, transformed a branch to assemble
the Twelve Tribes, and sowed seeds from
which the Three Trees grew stronger;
as inscribed on the Tablets at the foothills
of Sinai, a Covenant and a Promised Land.
Words, my judge
and silent witness,
sound their morning
bells. My eyes fired
with verses and trail
of letters, seeking the
origin of birth and its
wealth of hymns;
a place for my lonely
prayers charmed with
patterns of magnolia,
orchard, and vine.
This yearning carved
a cavity in my identity
as I retreated into an
inner world shrouded
by restless thoughts.
No magic carpet for my
bare feet, just words to
sail in a rich vocabulary.
From the east came judgment,
a whistling steel steadily squeaking
into the silent pockets of time,
clothing the earth with skeletal brash,
but O’ to those who didn’t climb the ladder,
Yizkor, a bold memory of flesh,
poking like amber beneath heavy eyelids.
©Michal Mahgerefteh/Janaury 2009
Fig and olive trees breathe,
weed-eating goats and unfurling white clouds
leap along sullen rocks to the call of a shepherd;
barefoot, heavy with beard, thick eye brows,
pug nose and dry tanned skin, wearing hooded
green jellaba and a white skullcap,
cracking sunflower seeds between his teeth,
he points to a small stream
flowing in the very heart of stillness,
watching as we stretch on the earth’s soft grass
soothed by a cool morning whiff,
our eyes closing instinctively
as the expanse of air exalts above all substances,
filling its abyss with serenity, mystery
and riddles from days long gone.
Quite serene will be my life
to sit upon the rocks and watch
the shepherds and their flock.,
fig leaf brought me down from
Eden to powder my cheeks and
curl my hair with coral clasps.
Light so low upon the earth
befriends my tent with vines and
mist of a thousand fragrant worth.
Amidst eucalyptus and cedar,
rush of foaming waters in the
blue-mosaic bath, as modesty
befits my soul, Lilith recites pure
three times then spreads her light
on herbs, fruits, cloths and songs.
Enwrapped in threads of silk, I lie
in a bed of petals and as embers enter
my skin, walls draw breath and blush
while angels spread dvash on my
dreamy lips softly whispering,
heart to heart ... love to love.
@Michal Mahgerefteh (Award/Published 2008)
Descending
Isolated
she lies on
a single bed.
Not a waking ray
or a soothing song
is permitted.
She smiled
throwing her bony arms
to hold me close.
I caressed
her hands and cheeks
with hope.
But the letters
on her chart
brandished thorns.
For her
the shechinah
is visible,
like
descending pollen
in the wilderness.
@Michal Mahgerefteh (Published 2008)
In the Garden of Eden, long before the eating of the apple, the Holy One
created the first human being — a man named Adam, and a woman named
Lilith. Lilith said, “We are equal because we are created from the same earth.”
— Alphabet of Ben Sira, 23a-b
Lilith, swayed by the serpent’s hiss,
No man is my master as I am as
strong as he, no man will tie my
lips as I have tasted sun and fruit,
echoed above the Trees ‘til God
shackled her tongue, binding her
name to the shores of the Red Sea.
But when Chava bit into the Bitter
Fruit, Lilith rushed to assist. Sitting
within a circle of stones on a mat
of reeds, she cleaned Chava’s gypsy
curls with oily wool, perfumed tawny
skin with orchid petals, and fed her
on goat milk, pomegranates and roots.
As the Garden awaited Lilith gracefully
wrapped her skin around Chava’s,
implanting the Infinite Life into the
unborn child the First Cry rushed
out of her womb and with a stream
of blood became the House of Israel.
@Michal Mahgerefteh (Published 2009)
The Isolated Room
Since midnight, no
place to sleep just a
coffee machine with
no sugar or cream.
My fear tightened
as I rushed to his room
through hallways that
smelled dry and sour.
With urgency, two nurses
led me to a wooden chair
by his bed, and I so wanted
to hold his tiny body;
so weak and tender
like a seedling soft and
pliant dressed in colorful
tubes and straps and needles.
I kissed him on his
lips and cried. I cried
so intensely I almost
burned in that cry.
Into his chest I leaned
my blood and wishes,
so truly so lovingly
‘til all my limbs idled.
@Michal Mahgerefteh (Award/Published 2008)
