Hope soaked pen


ObamaThe day history was left for what it was

and the present was written

with a hope soaked pen

I wasn’t watching the man

all ears were drawn to

and all eyes were embracing



I watched the wrinkled white man

in the audience behind

Mr. Change’s right shoulder

My left

The wrinkled white man who sat there

with eyes closed

and head lifted towards the cold sun


leaving every inch of his printed past

footprints of memories left on his face

for the wind to touch


I watched him take in  the words

and wrap them around his dreams like a warm scarf


Somewhere between the lines

the camera decided to leave my old man

I didn’t see him again

I don’t know if he opened his eyes

in time

to witness the standing ovation

the birth of a poem

the witty preacher man

I don’t know

But I sure hope he opened them

in time

to see how the spin-doctor of eight years

got spun out of the capital

in a wheelchair

Yes, indeed

one must take pity on the ones

who climb

only to fall

in the traps of history


All is well that ends well




Wrinkled colorless women

in my mind

frown at me


If hope is running through our pens

and veins

these days

we must say

all that begins well will end well


I only hope we have enough clean sheets

and ink to go around



© Najiba Abdellaoui