Esmeralda
Esmeralda's name danced in my child's mind
after reading an abridged version of Hugo's
Notre-Dame de Paris. It wasn't the
seductiveness of the young gypsy's song and dance
that left an imprint on me, but the way the silkiness
of her name lingered in my senses
whenever I'd repeat Es 🎶me 🎶 ral 🎶da 🎶
as though reading a musical score
Syllables rolled deliciously in my mouth echoing
the clicking of Esmeralda's silver castanets
I envisioned the gem's green radiance
conjured in familiar tongues
emeraude
zomorrod زمرد
emerald
esmeralda
a chain of delightful sounds wrapped
around my heart as one wears an
arcane pendant as a token to unravel meanings
I later learned Esmeralda came from the Greek
smaragdi σμαράγδι
Syllables travelled from mouth to mouth, words echoed
one another, retaining a kinship like the rhythmic
links of a virtual chain that instilled
in me a lifelong passion for languages.
Though it Still Appears to Be a Dream
Pensionnat de la Mère de Dieu, Cairo, Egypt, 1962
We weren’t allowed to talk
in line, or run in hallways.
Never allowed to wear any traces
of makeup or nail polish...
Yet, when our last year ended
we were entitled to a farewell ritual,
free to roam for an entire night
between the courtyard and the adjacent gym
without uniforms, without supervision.
Though it still appears to be a dream,
we sat around a small campfire
just like the one we’d read about
in stories of bonding.
We sang bawdy songs till dawn
voices hoarser as we braved
barriers and raised the pitch.
The ghosts of Brel, Brassens, Ferrat
and Ferré anointed us troubadours
of the night. I can still see sparks flicker,
glimpses of smiles, not a single
face alight, just a scene broken
down into fragments.
Exhausted, we must have slipped
in silence inside our sleeping bags,
oblivious of the dusty smell
rising from the hardwood floor,
the gym horses casting shadows
over the walls of our dreams.
Did the nuns watch us through lowered
blinds running their fingers
over rosary beads? Perhaps reminiscing
about the forked paths faced
at our age. When I’d complain,
my mother always said I should be grateful
I had so much more freedom
than she ever dreamt of.
First published by Nimrod Literary Journal
Or Can't You See That We Want Our Voices to be Heard?
A pantoum for unity وحدة after César Vallejo’s “Masa”
Women of all ages hair down or veiled speak in unison
We stand shoulder to shoulder in the streets of Lebanon
Want to be heard and seen from windows and on screens
We won’t desist lest the puppeteers rewrite their script
We stand shoulder to shoulder in the streets of Lebanon
See how men and women of all faiths are holding hands
We won’t desist lest the puppeteers rewrite their scripts.
Stop pushing brother against brother sister against sister
See how men and women of all faiths are holding hands
Let’s reclaim our land, merge our solitude into one وحدة
Stop pushing brother against brother sister against sister
Watch our five fingers form the hand controlling our lives
Let’s reclaim our land, merge our solitude into one وحدة
We want you to hear our children’s voices begging for change
Watch our five fingers form the hand controlling our lives
Let our trees bear fruits again why go where fruits ache for sun
We want you to hear our children’s voices begging for change
Let them return from distant lands where flowers lost their scent
Let our trees bear fruits again why go where fruits ache for sun
Let’s stand till the soles of our feet grow roots anchoring us
First published by The Mac Guffin; Nominated for a Pushcart Prize
From Or Did You Ever See The Other Side? (Press 53 2023)
Or What If You’d Enter This Thread With Your Own Perspective?
Some say a poem is a lost feather,
a melting snowflake,
or a slowing down of raindrops
piercing the pond’s surface
in concentric ripples.
Some even think unseen words
echo each other
through wafts of air flowing
within ever-changing clouds
and all we need is
wait in silence
to capture their vibrations.
But others might add that each
poem is a step towards death.
A presence that is an absence.
The promise of appearance
vs disappearance,
defying loneliness
Some see readers as voyeurs
who peek through lines
to decipher the meaning
hidden beneath ink strokes gliding
over fibre threads.
While the blank page awaits signs
to come to life, we struggle
to make that moment last,
keep recycling
the illusion of creating
as insidious drafts drift and swirl
like fumes fleeing
through half-opened doors
and windows in search
for a truce enabling us
to prepare for a fiercer battle.
First published by Knot Magazine
From Or Did You Ever See The Other Side? (Press 53 2023)
Or Isn’t There So Much More To It Than Meets The Eye?
when age-old recipes become richer with new spices and sleights of hand? Think of them as translations deafening the original song but richer in experience, opening infinite doors to the senses. My mother started her recipe books in Heliopolis when she was fourteen. For decades, she’d write in French with a pen dipped in black ink, adding red Gothic script for titles. At the bottom of each page, a drawing made the dish more enticing than any photograph. When she died, my sister handed me these archeological findings in which there was oftentimes no modus operandi and measures had to be interpreted.
First published by MockingHeart Review
Hedy Habra's fourth poetry collection, Or Did You Ever See The Other Side? (Press 53 2023), won the 2024 International Poetry Book Awards and was a finalist for the Eric Hoffer Award and the USA Best Book Award; The Taste of the Earth won the Silver Nautilus Book Award and Honorable Mention for the Eric Hoffer Award and was a finalist for the USA Best Book Award; Tea in Heliopolis won the USA Best Book Award, and was a finalist for the International Book Awards; Under Brushstrokes was a finalist for the International Poetry Book Award. Her story collection, Flying Carpets, won the Arab American Book Award’s Honorable Mention. Her book of criticism is Mundos alternos y artísticos en Vargas Llosa. She is a twenty-two-time nominee for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. https://www.hedyhabra.com/
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