When Melons Turn to Blood Oranges
Thou shall not steal, nor shall thou covet, nor shall thou murder,
though your eyes betray you. Irises glimmer, pupils dilate with insatiable thirst.
What can we do? Dark, lonely creatures that we are.
Unclean. Uncivilized. Ungrateful? You say
Knights-Errant seeks sustenance from our holy vines,
the nectar between seeds and rinds.
We neither transact nor bargain. Commerce is shared among the upright,
Equity reserved for the enlightened.
You try not the quill, but the sword,
the claw, the fang, the pincer,
the bludgeon, the sling, the bone,
the rock, our rock
upon which you shall build yours.
Behind verdant mashrabiya, the Last Supper.
Cold suns and hellish nights, we endure.
We've seen the seeds of sin sown, overgrown
a sour, sorrowful grove.
We, who've reaped and sown and reaped and sown and reaped,
now sown by you.
Begin anew: fruits born from bone milled to meal.
We reside below your feet as mineral, but we remain
impossible to bury.
Where our melons once grew sprouts the blood orange.
The marl mocks your iniquities,
injustices made manifest.
A falsehood, a fixture, an illusion,
a fourth broken promise soon rectified.
Thou shall bear false witness no longer.
Seasons change, the birds return to our canopies.
Winter's frost has begotten fertile spring soil.
Rise!
The sole sapling,
Cultivated in Truth, troweled by Memory's hand.
Thou shall see us, the witness-bearers,
for we shall blossom again!
By Tariq Karibian
Biography:
Tariq M. Karibian is a Palestinian-Armenian writer from the Metro-Detroit area. He writes primarily SWANA stories intertwined with other cultures, traditions, and identities as a means for exploring intersectionality between people. Tariq holds a B.A. in English Language and Literature from Villanova University and a M.A. in Humanities/Creative Writing from the University of Chicago. He is a M.F.A. candidate at Emerson College.
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