The water of life

Words by Ella Avni

A Fathers Love And Spinach

I.

The sun stole the colour from my father’s face, love and loss mingled in the blue-black beneath his eyes like rivers winding through the wrinkles of sleepless skin.

I could not curse the sun for what she has done but rather Allah who allowed for this monochromatic man.

as she slept through what seemed like endless summer days he stumbled through each moment and slept in the bed of another. each woman almost the same as the last, all in a desperate attempt to colour his face like she did.

But they can never paint his cheeks like the woman of carob syrup, like my mother.

II.

A woman of copper skin stood in the shadow of my father, through his eyes swooped cloaked love walking through the door before she did. A bouquet of spinach appeared in my arms “wash them” the nose breathed, no breath of love.

She had a forgetful name and a face like a brick, in her face I could not see any love!

The green mingled with wrinkled hands, a gift from the phoenix. How do I the light fractured. Her hand slipped into mine, the bouquet melting into the grass beneath it, the hand took me to my home which was fractured

As I washed with uncertainty and unclear water a woman approached with wisdom and what seemed to be love.

III.

A breath of noise pushed its way out of the mouth of copper and rust, “where is the

The hand placed bronze coins in the palm of the monochromatic man, the lustre seemed to further drain his colour.

As the metal rattled the hand constricted, Although I knew not what the rattle meant- I knew my life was now fractured.

The Water Of Life

The man let loose the rope which tied us tightly to our homeland as we drift. Madhi holds me close as those at the shore weep with their foreheads just touching the sand, asking Allah to say their goodbyes for them. I place my chin on my knees and watch those strangers sitting next to me, what a curious sight!

They glow a sort of yellow hue, elated, I cannot tell if it’s the early dawn light refracting in the dew collected on their baby hairs or a halo forming around their scalp.

Or the water of life has been swallow’d by us who appear to be sailing on it. Exposed toes turn blue with the coolness of the water seeping in Sunken eyes heavy with the memories of where they left from Irises mirroring the glister of the sea as they remember where they are going. Many sleep on deck;

I assume to enjoy the sunrise

Where the sun in her beauty stole what dreams they may have And moulded them into a most beautiful red apparition

Shreds of dialogue peeking out when voices are unlocked from their shackles And stories shared of unlawful or pensive pasts

Followed by reverie and trepidation of what might be to come.

My beloved has gifted us this water of life

This ocean which has the power to create or destroy Yet in it we blindly place our trust to transform what we have once known into opportunity for us to become to take us to Falah.

Fragmented

I dream of my life across the river, each apparition with borrowed faces from photographs of a woman I used to call mother Her hair of dark ringlets and the thickness of her brows her body rounded, soft like the language she speaks Oh mother, my beloved, forgive me

As I wake to the now homely sound of engines and horns

I say “good morning” not “merhaba”

How dare I commit such a crime

I have robbed myself of my past, my life before falah

What use is translation, is this damnation

How dare I forget the meaning of the very words I was born of.

The taste of carob has not touched my lips since she was here

How dare I purchase such a delicacy with a label in a language other than hers my clumsy tongue stumbling over two dialects tripping over consonants becoming singed when attempting to touch the scripture of gold my knees have scarcely touched the mat of crimson my heart severed from the sacred touch of my beloved.

How dare i, even in my clouded english to take us to Falah.