Poem by Marivel Guzman
Jun 14, 2010
Anguish and sadness,
Squishing them tight
Take them in your journey
Afraid to say…
the last good byes
Behind you’re leaving
Your Mother Land…
Wanted to escape,
Fighting your shadows,
ghost of the past,
Shadows of the present
Don’t cry is part of life
Leaving behind your mother
Is not a crime!
Leaving Your cradle,
It’s just part of life
Sons of the mother,
Missing her breath
her endless advices!,
The kitchen spices……..
Her lovely hands,
Although with pain
They need to abandon
That beloved soil
The Mother Land
Holding your fits
to your heart
Yelling in profound silence,
What you’ve given me?……
Death, Misery and blood!
Oh Dear Beloved
Sons of this land
Terrible future you have
You want to live,
You want to fly,
But the ties to the land,
And the guilt of your absence,
Are spears in your heart
That Distance promising
As a poisonous arrow,
Your soul is free!
Victory is not given…..
Not, to barren hands
Rivers of blood feeding
This thirsty land,
To Quench the thirst of the war,
Longing to return, Already!,
But have not even
This Land that saw you
play, And cry!
Hearing the thunder
Your mother pots
your brothers laughing
Your cries and laughs
All blended in time!
Your wrote his story
In every hill,
every hole, every grave
the mist, the blows in the morning
the light the gives life
You are every where
My sons, you exist
In the Nowhere…..
That part of everything
Penetrating all the landscape
Your joy and your pain
Feeling like one,…..
My sons, You want to go,
And conquer the world,
but that wound in your heart,
grows like the Vine
Run My son, ride the winds,
touch the other side
We are the same,
continuity, sea and dirt
Like Mahmoud Darwish,
Using his pen and soul,
To give his message
with angel wings to the world
Writing emptiness in the sky
He won your heart, my heart
Mi memories will live in you
Inside your flesh,
Running through your blood,
I embrace you the same!
Be gone, grow wings, Fly!
That this land will always be here
Always be yours,
You are not departing
We are moving to the
other side, you and me
This poem of love
Will always survive
The pain of the mothers,
Will be there, with you
With your soul in your flesh,
That grief will be joy
When you my sons pray
Every time your forehead
Touches the ground!
All the laughs, memories, pains,
Blended as one in that moment
of meditation, raising your vibration
Be happy, Be Palestine
Time will give you
That sought peace
No battles, no bombs
The story is rewritten
Peace be with you
You deserve it
Behold that though
When you feel Free
I will be Free, because…
We are one
Mother, sons and Land
I will be in your dreams
Return of this mount of soil,
My essence will give you warm
The thought, will give you
Food for you soul.
always here, my sons,
Always yours, remember
Your Land is Palestine
that connects, all around,
Just touch the ground,
It’s all sacred,
The mystery of life
Love is with you,
As soul and heart,
As you are dirt,
You are part of this land,
Poema de Marivel Guzman
La angustia y la tristeza,
un dolor inmenso,
recopilación de recuerdos,
Llévalos en tu jornada …
el miedo de decir
el último adios
Tu Madre Tierra
peleado tus sombras,
fantasma del pasado,
Sombras del Presente
es parte de la vida,
Dejando atrás a tu madre,
No es un crimen!
Dejando tu cuna,
Es sólo parte de la vida,
Hijos de la madre,
extranando su aliento,
sus consejos sin fin!,
Las especies de cocina … .
Sus manos primorosas,
aunque con dolor
Tienen que abandonar
esa tierra amada
la Madre Tierra,
juntando tus punos,
cerca de tu corazón
Gritando en silencio profundo,
que me has dado ?……
Muerte, miseria y sangre!
Oh! Amado Querido
Hijos de esta tierra
futuro Terrible te espera
pero los lazos con la tierra,
Y la culpa de tu ausencia,
son lanzas en tu corazón,
La prometedores Distancia
como flecha venenosa,
Tu alma es libre
Tu sabes que la victoria no sera dada,
a manos infertiles.
Ríos de sangre alimentando
la tierra sedienta,
que Nunca se llena,
Para saciar la sed de la guerra,
anhelando regresar ya,
pero aún no has partido!
Esta tierra que te vio jugar,
Es lo mismo!
escuchando el trueno
las ollas de tu madre
la risa de tus hermanos
Sus gritos y risas
mezclados en el tiempo!
Tu escribiste tu historia
en todos las colina,
En cada hoyo,
En cada árbol,
los tumultos de la mañana
la luz del da vida
Tu estás en todas partes,
tu existes enl ninguna parte … ..
La parte de todo
penetrante todo el paisaje,
tu alegría y tu dolor
Sentirlo como uno solo, … ..
Hijos míos, Te Quieres ir,
y conquistar el mundo,
pero esa herida en su corazón,
que crece como la Viña,
corre hijo mío,
Galopa con el viento,
toca el otro lado del mundo,
Somos la misma tierra
el mar y la tierra
Somos lo mismo!
Al igual que Mahmud Darwish,
Que Uso de la pluma y el alma,
Para dar su mensaje
con alas de ángel al mundo,
escribiendo en la vascuidad del cielo,
Él ganó tu corazón, my corazón,
Mi recuerdo vivirá en ti,
Dentro de tu carne,
corriendo por tu sangre,
estando aquí, o alla.
Te abrazo de igual modo!
Que esta tierra siempre estará aquí
siempre sera tuya,
no te estás llendo Hijo Mio
Nos estamos moviendo hacia el otro lado,
tú y yo
Este poema de amor
Con el dolor de las madres,
Yo estare siempre allí,
contigo, con tu alma en tu carne,
Este dolor será alegría,
Cuando mis hijos rezen,
Cada vez que tu frente toque el suelo!
Todas las risas,
en ese momento de meditación,
elevando tu vibración,
Se feliz, se Palestina
el tiempo te dará
la paz buscada,
no mas batallas,
no mas bombas,
la historia se escribira otra vez,
Que La paz sea contigo,
Te lo mereces:
Manten ese pensamiento,
que cuando tu te sientas libre Yo sere libre,
porque ..La madre, los hijos y la Tierra son una
Yo estare en tus sueños
y en ellos regresa,
a este monte de tierra,
Donde mi esencia te dará abrigo
Mi pensamiento te dará Alimentos para tu alma.
Ancestrales lazos siempre aquí,
mis hijos, siempre tuyos,
recuerda tu tierra es Palestina
que nos conecta,
a todos alrededor,
Sólo toca el suelo,
el misterio de la vida
que se conecta.
El amor está con contigo,
como alma y corazón
Como tu y la tierra,
ú eres parte de esta tierra,
Poem by Marivel Guzman
On Friday, June 11, 2010 at 8:28pm
Is this massacre of yours
Self defense?,. Can’t you see?
The damage that you causing to the land?,
you are poisoning the Holy Land,
You are making barren her hills
killing her sons, and uprooting her trees
Destruction is not a battle,
you think, you win?
their sons blood is sinking in the land,
more warriors are being planted
Don’t you know?,…
that they will spring out to the light.
growing like the vine
strong, with branches full of life
embracing all in their path
in an immortal bond that feeds and gives
the fruits of dreams, embracing
The Mother branches as one
That soil that you are ravaging,
will come back all green
full of life feed by seeds, as
Their memory is nectar to the bees
that will be carried like pollen to every corner
to every flower, every tree
A bullet don’t kill the dreams,
make them stronger to live.
They will come back with all their might
to embrace that holy place
that you are calling yours…..
Sacred grown is Palestine!
That land was their cradle,
the crib that rock their dreams
Can you hear?,
the crying of the mothers?
in procession to their graves?
You are killing this generation!
But impregnating the next one to come,
Stronger!, More Beautiful!,
In the fountains of Eden
Newer generation purified by blood
blessed by the angels directed by God
Will they use the same madness?,
that you use to kill their brethren men?,
Will they use the same rage?
To make you pay for the
Humiliation of their pious mothers
Remember, how you insulted their pain?.
Worse that Death, is being forgotten
History is not a story that tell from your side!
history comes to stamp your crimes,
written with blood, written on the land
Their trees were witnesses, you took their roots
but the seeds were dispersed by the wind
You wrote it on your books
The Terra Santa was always here!
Palestine has resisted, her blood is in your boots!,
can you smell the sweetness in the air?
flowing like honey, filling the cracks of despair
But a worse punishment,
that all your people will pay.
worse that death, is non existence.
Erase from the books that you created,
it will be a new history, where the land
flowing with honey is Palestine
The blood and the tears of the Mothers
blending in a cocktail of hope
For their sons last wish was to
depart kissing the soil
The martyrs last breath ,whispering
Palestine will live forever
Viva Palestine, My blood is my sacrifice,
For you Mother! Palestine will raise again,
The Mother, The Sons and the Land
It is what we know as Palestine
The Holy Land, The Terra Santa
Ancient Land, Palestine
Poem by Marivel Guzman
on Tuesday, April 13, 2010 at 2:40pm
The wishful hope of a bleeding heart,
hoping for a smile, hoping for a light to shine its path.
the sorrow will remain nested inside,
even if the grief is extinguished by the longest night.
Sad poetry feed by pain,
with echoes of centuries of fights
with echoes of centuries of sheded blood
Is an echo of strangled Past
But is also the most beautiful piece of art
Blending Tears, Blood,with the Word
Love have won the battle with the pen
unblemished, surviving time
Who ever have cried with Nizar Qaabbani’s poetry
Only he knows that the notes of pain
the plays the music with strings from the heart
were composed with ink of blood
I give you a verse from my favorite:
Lessons In Drawing:by Nizar Qabbani
‘When you grow up, my son,
and read the diwan of Arabic poetry
you’ll discover that the word and the tear are twins
and the Arabic poem
is no more than a tear wept by writing fingers.’
Gaza in our Hearts
by Marivel Guzman
on Saturday, June 5, 2010 at 2:21am
Seems like long time, since we were watching some news of “Operation Cast Lead”, the terrorizing assault that Israel inflicted in the powerless people of Gaza, the winter of 2009 and for 22 days, the sky lighted with white phosphorous fire, igniting the flesh of innocent civilians on the ground, the big media dissimulating the news flashing with blood, looking the other way.
For years we were accustomed to watch the news and think that if they were taking the time to broadcast it, it was maybe some truth to the news, but in the recent years, we have come to the conclusion that big media is nothing but a well paid charade of well acted scripts, and photoshopped pictures, that any high schooler can can make.
Now,29 months later, and in another show of force, Israel again attack the intellect of the people, crying victim as usual ,and our President Obama not wanting to stir the mood of the lobbyist, saying nothing to the public but the same old rhetoric, the same old school of deception and lies, only to try calm the rage, our rage, that been following and writing and supporting the Gaza Flotilla, to reach it end.
But this time, in this times of change the usual circus does not convince. We want answers, real answers, we want justice to be serve.
We wonder and with just reason we ask, how can Israel can get away so easily with a PR campaigns?, Is there Justice in this world? Can anybody stop this monster? For how long we are going to stay in the sidelines?. I’ve been writing and posting that the day is near for the calamity of the 21 century to see its end.
We the people can make it happen, as this monster is feed by money….Stop the bloodline to reach the heart….boycott Israeli products, and be strong and stop your urges to drink that smelly coffee from Starbucks.
There are thousands of items, that we can stop using without even miss a bit of them, the economy will collapse as the house of cards that holds the king in its place.
The movie industry in the US and UK pay their share to Israel, and the Public Relations Clowns with Minister Permits that roam the Churches of the world collecting money for Israel to “return to the promise land”. Knowing the TRUTH is the first step to cut the money from reaching Israel.
Maybe the money that they collect is pennies in if we compare with the billions of dollars that comes to Israel illegally on drugs deals and other illicit activities. And also the billions that the US religiously allocate every year. We have hard work ahead, but there is always a first step to take.
The blood of the victims still fresh in the boat and Israel is already executing its next attack, do not stop talking of the Gaza Flotilla massacre, do not let the news die in the air, keep telling the story, and posting your rage.
We the people, are the only ones that care, because in this corporate world, We the People, are different from the corporate thugs, we the people are 6.5 billions and they are only a few thousands that bath in golden tubs.
We are The New Press; The Free Press of the world, we the people spreading the news, the truth.
Do not even bother in checking the big media is full of lies and deceit.
Write your own blogs, post your own videos and forget about the lies that do not feed but the monster ego, and the coffers as they own those outlets.
Next time that you browse the net, do not forget that Gaza still suffer, that justice has not been served..
Memories are Realities
by Marivel Guzman
On Sunday, April 18, 2010 at 6:17am
What is worse to be exiled in a foreign land,
or to be foreigner in an exiled Land,
as is happen to my brothers in Palestine.
But didn’t Allah have chosen your fate?,
you should not be angry, but pray.
Are all these complains out of desperation?,
or you have loose your faith?.
All the stories have been written on sand,
the storm have erased all the wounds of the sons of Adam.
But Brothers, we are millions that share the same story,
and we will keep it alive, we will write again.
I know how the story goes,
as I am an exile myself,
away from the land that gave me life,
I could return if I want,
and share the reality
that made me wonder to a foreign land.
I could share your pain,
and say angry words,
but I choose to fight for your rights.
I cheer with tears for this poem,
that taste like sour wine,
the pain that you have is unmeasurable,
that no ruler can count.
I salute you warrior of time,
your memories will be back to hunt.
They will bite the story
they will straighten the History,
the truth that have been buried with lies.
Have patience, have prayers,
that the world is starting to know
and the battle had began.
By Marivel Guzman
Together We Stand
Poem by Marivel Guzman
On Monday, April 12, 2010 at 10:22am
“Together we Stand” is a powerful statement
that only the brave understand,
If peace is up to the weak
then The Wall is their price to keep
Peace is for us, the lovers of life
the lovers of men, and things
that exist everywhere……….
Peace is a price, we need to fight for
“Together we Stand” divided we fall
the free of the land, will gather us all
Remember United, as One
We can conquer the World.
by; Marivel Guzman
By Mahmoud Darwish
In one minute, the whole life of a house ends. The house murdered is also mass
murder, even if vacant of its residents. It is a mass grave for the basic elements
needed to construct a building for meaning, or for an insignificant poem in a time
of war. The house, murdered, is the amputation of things from their relations and
from the names of emotions, and it is tragedy’s need to guide eloquence to
contemplate the life of a thing. In each thing there’s a being that aches . . . the
memory of fingers, of a scent, of an image. And houses get murdered just as their
residents get murdered. And as the memory of things get murdered—wood, stone,
glass, iron, cement—they all scatter in fragments like beings. And cotton, silk,
linen, notepads, books, all are torn like words whose owners were not given time
to speak. And the plates, spoons, toys, records, faucets, pipes, door handles, and
the fridge, the washer, the vases, jars of olives and pickles, and canned foods, all
break as their owners broke. And the two whites, salt and sugar, are pulverized,
and also the spices, the matchboxes, the pills and oral contraceptives, elixirs,
garlic braids, onions, tomatoes, dried okra, rice and lentils, as happens with the
residents. And the lease contract, the marriage and birth certificates, the utility
bills, identity cards, passports, love letters, all torn to shreds like the hearts of their
owners. And the pictures fly, the toothbrushes, hair combs, make-up accessories,
shoes, underwear, sheets, towels, like family secrets hung in public, in ruin. All
these things are the memories of people who were emptied of things, and the
memories of things that were emptied of people . . . all end in one minute. Our
things die like us, but they don’t get buried with us!
Translated by Fady Joudah