The poet talks of being a young man, a young poet in a Beirut under siege,
Of how words were a sort of resistance, then.
I think we have too many words and not nearly enough resistance.
Read More
I have bled too many times for my brown-ness
have hidden behind too many I’m Americans
have hated myself too often for hating my ancestors
Read More
I come from a place of empathy
where ears are made of patience,
drums sensitive to the change in wavelength,
de-weaving complexity
into simplicity.
Read More
Abu Dhabi is
the echoes of the athan downtown
helpful strangers.
two little Egyptian girls chasing each other in laughter as their tired mother watches on.
love and loneliness.
Read More
I may hate the question, “Where are you from?”
But I absolutely abhor the question, “Where are you really from?”
Read More