ignore(ance) - acrylic on canvas - 120 x 100 cm by Jana Aridi 57
Grow<strong>in</strong>g Up Solid <strong>in</strong> Kuwait At first when I was young <strong>and</strong> frail you used to beat my arms <strong>and</strong> legs with a wooden stick, a c<strong>and</strong>y p<strong>in</strong>k wrapp<strong>in</strong>g curved along its length. You purchased your cheap parent<strong>in</strong>g aid by <strong>the</strong> dozen, <strong>and</strong> said I had to obey, or else. Did I not know that God had placed heaven under your feet, <strong>and</strong> hell outside my bedroom door. And no, I couldn’t have a key. But now that you are older than <strong>the</strong> right k<strong>in</strong>d of old your own limbs creak when you sit <strong>and</strong> your body heat drops, your frailty wedges <strong>in</strong> between your bones, <strong>and</strong> your f<strong>in</strong>gers, no longer coil<strong>in</strong>g around <strong>the</strong> p<strong>in</strong>k-strapped stick, but trembl<strong>in</strong>g on <strong>the</strong>ir own accord, you say it’s not about strength anymore, or obedience, or God’s honest truth, but about time spent <strong>in</strong> each o<strong>the</strong>r’s company, about soft embraces, <strong>the</strong> smell<strong>in</strong>g of necks, forehead kiss<strong>in</strong>g, <strong>the</strong> old world, <strong>and</strong> a whole lot of o<strong>the</strong>r th<strong>in</strong>gs that never grazed your lips before, when you were upright <strong>and</strong> stiff. I wonder if you remember how much money you saved buy<strong>in</strong>g those sticks by <strong>the</strong> dozen <strong>and</strong> if you prefer purple to p<strong>in</strong>k. Nada Faris Janus/Portunus In memory of 26/06/2015 Two sides of <strong>the</strong> same co<strong>in</strong>. But what do you expect? Gnaw<strong>in</strong>g with wet teeth at <strong>the</strong> Eternal Spr<strong>in</strong>g of Dawn. The river of blood with<strong>in</strong>. They gnash <strong>and</strong> claw each o<strong>the</strong>r with rabid delight. But what do you expect? Forgiveness is merely a word, man-made. A gun, a bomb, is not. Glory is <strong>the</strong> holy crucifixion, <strong>the</strong> burn<strong>in</strong>g bush <strong>and</strong> <strong>the</strong> seventy-two virg<strong>in</strong>s <strong>in</strong> a s<strong>in</strong>gle shot. But what do you expect? A word is a word is a word. A war is not. It is <strong>the</strong> will to forge repose <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> world for all of US. Oil <strong>the</strong> spear. Prepare <strong>the</strong> Gods for oil. But what do you expect? The selfish soul of man is found at last <strong>in</strong> greedy genes disclosed <strong>in</strong> cells <strong>and</strong> co<strong>in</strong>ed <strong>in</strong> labs. But a fact is a whore work<strong>in</strong>g for <strong>the</strong> rich <strong>and</strong> famous, fear<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> cabal of mercenaries, ready <strong>and</strong> will<strong>in</strong>g <strong>and</strong> able, to teleport at moment’s notice at <strong>the</strong> bro<strong>the</strong>l’s door. But what do you expect? It was strapped to his chest. When he detonated <strong>the</strong> bomb his faith ricocheted aga<strong>in</strong>st <strong>the</strong> walls of <strong>the</strong> mosque, sever<strong>in</strong>g limbs <strong>and</strong> steal<strong>in</strong>g lives. But what do you expect? A massacre on <strong>the</strong> s<strong>and</strong> unfortunate tide, untimely waves. A head among <strong>the</strong> flags. Unend<strong>in</strong>g cries spann<strong>in</strong>g cont<strong>in</strong>ents. But what do you expect? Start <strong>the</strong> fire. Throw <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> keys for luck. Eschew <strong>the</strong> Spr<strong>in</strong>g for <strong>the</strong> Founta<strong>in</strong>, <strong>the</strong> florid cheeks, slapped red <strong>and</strong> p<strong>in</strong>k with love. What else do you expect? Nada Faris 58