Meditations
Over Phoenician Letters
Words
were born at the dawn of time in Jbeil, Byblos, the
oldest
inhabited city in the world. Symbols appeared
inscribed
over the skin of goats and sheep, bearing visual
messages
that sailed from shore to shore undergoing an
alchemical
transformation, still echoing the same sounds
in
other tongues.
I.
Aleph for ox marking furrows in parallel lines, erect
like
that first letter initiating the article, al
for aleph, the one
and
only of its kind, encompassing all meanings.
Beth, bayt for house as bosom, womb, al bayt, where
families
gather around the homemade meal cooked over a
hearth,
often bearing a burning dot under the cast iron tray.
Gimel for camel,
ships of the desert, al gamal,
battling
dunes
as waves head bent, back curved under chests filled with
gold
and spices, eyelids heavy with the secrets of Timbuktu.
Daleth for door, half
open dal hospitality leading to al
dar, a heart with open valves to
transfuse friendship, erase
boundaries, a steaming stew’s scents
welcoming you in.
He for a window’s
delicately laced wood, musharabiyehs
filtering
the sun, letting the wind in, al hawa’
from each cardinal
point,
allowing al hawa’s ethereal love to
hover along the walls.
II.
Waw for hook uniting letters forming words or setting
the
tone as a vowel, mouth in awe for wow, al
waw, asking for
more,
doubled in the depths of noor, the
light, and osfoor, the
bird.
Heth for stones
erected for lamentations, al hayt,
separation,
veiled with graffiti, muralist paintings, a wall to be
destroyed,
leaving only its pillars for memory.
Yodh for yad,
a hand for lovers hand in hand, for
building,
cooking, painting, hand shaken in a peace agreement,
asking
for a daughter’s hand, granting her hand. Would a girl’s
hand
always belong to a man?
Kaph for palm,
applause, al kaph, life lines filled
with
expectations,
holding a wealth of cherries or raspberries, a
measure
for caresses, a palm filled with water to quench your
thirst.
Lamedh, lam, for unattainable desire, frustrated
springs,
a liquid lambda, flowing stream filled with lost
opportunities,
forgetfulness, yearning to settle down on the
shores
of earthly hope.
III.
Mem, the letter mim, conjuring water: al may’ droplets
of
dew, ripples or waves, ambrosia, gold nuggets buried in deep
wells
for the desert voyager, Andalusian fountains whose
crystalline
notes echo al oud.
Nun for the letter nun, for the tail of al
thu’ban, curling
up
into itself, an uroborus, nun, marked
at times with a dot
for
its piercing eye, the end and the beginning, a restless eel
leaping
out in foaming spirals.
Aiyn for eye, a lidless eye lined with Kohl,
right inside
Fatima’s
palm, a blue amulet conjuring al ayn, the
evil eye, the
Sight
that opens the gilded gates of consciousness.
Pe or feh, al fam for mouth lined with carmine lips to
surround
love words, the kiss, the silence, the breath, opening
and
closing the door to the soul, the spirit of life or death.
Qoph, another sign for palm, yet closer to al qird for
monkey:
it once was a gird for three monkeys, al
qouroud,
spinning
the wheel of fortune, the one on top flaunts a fleeting
crown,
but his luck is changing, unless he’d master the wisdom
to
say nothing, see nothing, hear nothing.
IV.
Resh, for head, al ra’s, harboring inner thoughts, true
feelings
under hats or veils, the mirror we wish to present to the
world,
the leader or dictator, the crowned hero or the beheaded.
Shin for tooth, al senn, losing one in a dream means
the
passing of a loved one, losing them all at once is the end of
love.
A tooth can be a sign of strength, a serpent’s fang, or a
way
of identifying a skull.
Teth spins the
thread of life around al takht for
bed,
and
al tamar the palm tree, the fabric
lovers’ sheds are made
of,
its dancing fronds inspire tales that conjure the simoon,
measure
the inclination of the wind, drift into the unknown
under
sand storms.
Samekh for fish,
silvery scales glittering in circles, al
samak, intangible,
mercurial, like words whispered in the dark,
slippery
oaths and good omens in dreams, harbingers of
cornucopia
when they rise from the bottom of your Turkish
coffee
dregs.
Zaiyn for a sword
shaped as a sickle, a scimitar, al
zayn, perfection, as the number
seven and the mandala circle,
infusing
inner beauty and grace for al zahra,
a white blossom
delicate
as jasmine, or al zohoor, an orange
tree bursting with
blooms.
First
published by Sukoon Literary Journal
From The Taste of the Earth (Press 53 2019)
Hedy Habra has authored
four poetry collections, most recently, Or Did You Ever See The Other
Side? (Press 53 2023); The Taste of the Earth, won the
Silver Nautilus Book Award; Tea in Heliopolis won the USA Best Book Award and Under Brushstrokes was
an International Book Award finalist. Her story collection, Flying
Carpets, won the Arab American Book Award’s Honorable Mention. Her book of
criticism, Mundos alternos y artísticos en Vargas Llosa, examines the
visual elements in the Peruvian Nobel Laureate's narrative. Habra
holds a B.S. in Pharmacy. She earned an M.A. and an M.F.A. in English and an
M.A. and Ph.D. in Spanish literature, all from Western Michigan University
where she has taught. A twenty-one-time nominee for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net,
and recipient of the Nazim Hikmet Award, her multilingual work appears in
numerous journals and anthologies. https://www.hedyhabra.com/
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