Sentimental 

The things one finds in the top dusty shelves of closets. The most forgotten unforgettable things💔
I’m such

A sentimental thing

A girl who 

Cannot help but bring

Across the world

A little toy

Meant for a little 

Girl or boy

A puppet

That her father bought 

Now tangled up 

And full of knots

See, every single 

Business trip

He’d sneak into her room

And slip

A gift

From Hamley’s🤠

At her feet

And tuck her in 

her Carebear sheets🌈

That’s how this puppet

Came to be

A symbol 

Of his love for me

And now I pack

Her tangled limbs

To go back home
:

:

But not to him

 

 

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Home

superthumb

where is home?

is home where you were born?

is it where you wish to die?

is it where you wish to live in between?

is it where you find yourself?

is it the one you love?

is home something you carry with you in your soul?

is it all of these things?

what if these things are scattered all over the earth..and buried under it?

Someone once said to me: once you’ve crossed the ocean, you feel you’re always on the wrong side..

I’ve published these poems about leaving Montreal, which is a home

https://hatsorveils.com/2016/11/20/freefall/

https://hatsorveils.com/2016/10/25/last-snow/

 

and here is a poem about going back home..home-home

They’re contradictory, but true

 

 

As I step off the plane

I let out a breath

one I didn’t know I was holding

Though it’s all beige and bland

with some sea and sand

To my sore eyes

it’s a sight to be-holding (close)

I feel safe despite wars

And breakneck speed cars

I feel fair cloaked in my abaya*

Best of all I blend in

And completely fit in

No longer …a pariah

  • Abaya: long black cloak worn by women in Saudi, over their clothes
  • Finding Your Place
    image:https://www.google.ca/search?q=abaya+in+desert&safe=active&espv=2&biw=1534&bih=837&tbm=isch&imgil=UqzXbGT7hIVkvM%253A%253BkL1Blt0RpFKpaM%253Bhttps%25253A%25252F%25252Fwww.tussah.ae%25252Fproducts%25252Fdesert-butterfly-abaya&source=iu&pf=m&fir=UqzXbGT7hIVkvM%253A%252CkL1Blt0RpFKpaM%252C_&usg=__PVDDLVkvCJtsr7E1aDsn5-iqVes%3D&ved=0ahUKEwiWl87l6PvQAhVi34MKHWHlA7YQyjcIJQ&ei=tX5VWNboOOK-jwThyo-wCw#q=abaya+in+desert&safe=active&tbm=isch&tbs=rimg:CX_1do3e6ZoPGIjh46KSYdJK1fbShL8MDSyKP_1-Iv_17sr8gah-r1k8MihRdk6uOEPpdo1VaI-Rmd6t0ZZGmB4Sl03PSoSCXjopJh0krV9EX2LeHl6TyHFKhIJtKEvwwNLIo8RuLx8mCmKyxEqEgn_14i_1_1uyvyBhELbNN6vIzSjSoSCaH6vWTwyKFFEbNk1OMbfynwKhIJ2Tq44Q-l2jURb44ul_1-WoIcqEglVoj5GZ3q3RhGt-igEnioMsioSCVkaYHhKXTc9ETFWDkZT6_1a9&imgrc=f92jd7pmg8bkCM%3A

My father and the sea

sea

It’s such a gift to form a new image, or pretend to have a new memory of a loved one after they die.

*****

30 years ago

My father stood alone

Gazing out at the sea

And someone wrote this about his meeting with Princess Diana:

fullsizerender1

I would not have understood then, his charm, his diplomacy, his loyalty

what he was saying

I was only 2

******

25 years ago..

I stood with my father (well, he stood, and my feet dangled over the wall I was sitting on)

Gazing out at that same sea

“Baba, I’m bored, what should I do?”

“Do what you’re doing”

“What am I doing?”

“Looking out at the sea”

“That’s doing something?” I asked puzzled

“Sure it is”

I ignored him and decided to do something “productive” (yes, I’ve had this obsessive streak for quite a while)

I pulled out my book: Basil the Great Mouse Detective, see?

basil

Again, I did not understand what he was trying to teach me, about life, about time, about “being” rather than “doing”

I was only 7

******

But I’m starting to get it now

Starting to gather all his pearls

Strung along the seashore of our past

Lessons I am understanding

Only in retrospect

As I walk in his footsteps

which have been washed away by the tides

I’m starting to get it now

Who he was:

Just a man

Trying his best

to be a husband and father

Probably making it up

as he went along

Definitely making mistakes

as he went along

Just like me

Just like all of us

******

My children don’t get it now

But I’m sure they will

25

…or maybe 30

long-short years from now

******

I miss him 💔  and would love to gaze out at the sea with him one more time,

doing nothing….doing everything that matters.

Wid Kattan

Reference:The Diana Chronicles, Tina brown, 2007, page 271

Reckless

image-1

What was that?!

The park bench is moving

No, a man

A big grizzly man

With glazy eyes

Walking towards me

Shoot! Shoot! shoot!

I should have listened to my friends

Telling me not to go out at 5 am

But it’s so early

.. or so late

No one around

Still dark

Stupid stupid stupid!

Ok

Walk calmly

Throw back hood to increase peripheral vision

Head phones out

Can I use them as a cord?

Ok,

Flight, fight, or freeze?

Stand still and scream?

Hold breath and run?

I’m not a screamer

Might be a runner

Definitely a freezer

And fight? You must be kidding

My black belt is an expired joke

Can’t look over my shoulder

Or break into a run

Cuz then

The chase is on, right?

But I don’t now if he’s miles away

Or breathing down my neck

Pray pray pray

Don’t want to be in the news today

I look over my shoulder

He’s back there

Far away now

By the park bench

Phew

Ok

I’ll stop going for these reckless walks at 5 am

…Someday

Soon

Promise

It’s getting too cold anyway

:

:

Sigh,  the thing is,  I Relish my walks at dawn. Though I don’t want to stupidly invite my death, these walks…they just fill me up with life.

Writer’s Block

wrietersblock

no-thing

comes to mind

as I try to spell it out

How to traverse

this block?

how do I go about?

putting to words

the words

that insist to stay inside

just within reach

just out of grasp

just  round the bend they hide

know how it is?

they tease you

dangle at your tongue’s tip

when before

they dangled closer

to your typing fingertips

though  talented

and good

you’d better Mind the Gap

That every artist falls through

whoops, here I go:

same trap!

Crap..

Wid Kattan

Mind the Gap

image: https://www.google.ca/search?q=mind+the+gap&safe=active&espv=2&biw=1680&bih=953&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwil3bO6tMTQAhVB2WMKHbKiCFoQ_AUIBigB#safe=active&tbm=isch&q=writer%27s+block&imgrc=pucthaRyijWkJM%3A

Freefall

fall.jpg

 

It’s supposed to snow this week. I’ve been putting off this poem, but it’s time.

Winter’s coming.

 

I feel my heart fall

 as the leaves fall

in my last fall

in Montreal

I feel my heart break

It’s so high stakes

wish time would slow

To a crawl

It’s my last shot

In the pool game

It’s the black one

Eight- ball

But I’m going home

To remake a home

I won’t be alone

After all

Still it’s so unknown

Though it’s called my own

Have faith, close your eyes

freefa

               a

                   a

                       a

                           a

                               a

                                    a

                                         a

                                             a

                                                   .

                                                         .

                                                                .

 

Wid Kattan

Dreams of Arabian Nights

 

what-does-the-olympic-torch-symbolize_c8c3b63d-ae37-42e6-a71d-c06a5c076050

Lofty dreams

that grew

on palm trees

in the desert dunes

 

 

 

For me

came to fruition

far away

where pigeons croon

 

 

 

Here by the canal

In Montreal

This is where

I started to write

 

 

 

remembered

those dreams

and found my voice

and found my fire

…and fight

 

 

 

soon returning home

with a torch of light

to burn through

my Arabian nights

 

 

Wid Kattan

Lofty

Image: torch

Divide

Sometimes we hesitate so much, between two choices, not realizing that by doing nothing, we actually make a choice. We choose the Third Choice. Often the worst choice. We choose to lose both initial options, and sometime, ourselves.

divide

One foot

on either side

Of the great divide

That is gaping

ever wide

I must decide

Which side?

For to hesitate

Is to fall through

To hesitate

Is suicide

 

 

Wid Kattan

Or

Ghosting Smoke

smoke.jpg

I recently read a blog entry on “ghosting”, a phenomenon I didn’t know about.. I think it’s  when a person deliberately disappears from your life. Painful.  I imagined the writer’s feelings..and came up with this.

ghosting loves..

disappearing acts..

gone in a whiff of smoke..

 

 

I hold back tears

that clog my throat

feel like I’m going to choke

 

 

Again?!

Again?!

a broken heart?

My love life is a joke

 

 

 

But hope..

it springs eternal

next love, a luck of stroke

 

 

 

Please!

Smoke

 

image retrieved from : smoke