—Poetry by Dr. Anissa Sboui, Sousse, Tunisia
—Photos Courtsy of Public Domain
MY BODY IS NOT A BRIDGE
My body is not a bridge
To tread on like grass.
My body is not a fridge
To open and shut
Without any fuss.
Hungry and thirsty,
My body resists.
Eager or meager,
My body objects.
Absurdity speaks,
Her voice is louder.
Nihilistic her motive is,
Shrinking broader zones,
Obscuring sweetest desire.
Above the hole,
Below the sky,
My body here is never a bridge,
My body there will never be a fridge.
Throw that porridge…
My body is not a bridge
To tread on like grass.
My body is not a fridge
To open and shut
Without any fuss.
Hungry and thirsty,
My body resists.
Eager or meager,
My body objects.
Absurdity speaks,
Her voice is louder.
Nihilistic her motive is,
Shrinking broader zones,
Obscuring sweetest desire.
Above the hole,
Below the sky,
My body here is never a bridge,
My body there will never be a fridge.
Throw that porridge…
GIVE HIM A SHOUT
El Hedy, the nice-spirited graduate,
Made up his mind,
Left the heights of Djebel Biadha.
Lent a sum of French franc,
Held the old-fashioned bag
He’d just bought from the flea market
On the chest,
Kissed his stepmom,
Threw a slice of sausage
To the neighbor’s Siamese cat,
Bade farewell to the tiny room
Where his dreams have been cemented.
On the highway,
Thrilled, he reminded the Harraqa
Couldn’t help crying, he,
Yet, suddenly
Satan felt not free
Chid El Hedy on
Reciting the Koranic verses
As it awakened atrocious memories
Of the chaining up of mischievous Jinn.
His heart thumped,
The shadow of the hottie,
The incarnation of evil, the threshold to hell,
Sitting a meter away,
Caught not his attention.
Cursed bad luck, El Hedy repeated:
“Allah There is no God but He—The Living,
The Self-Subsisting, Eternal.
No slumber can seize Him nor sleep…”
Annoyed by the mask,
The monotonous cleaning of the hands,
The vibrating Nokia 3310
Emblazed with the face
Of Alan Shenu.
With the rise of the officer’s curtains,
The wind slapped his head,
Found mental corridors.
Energized by the Harqa project,
Tears of rain wet his diploma.
Declaring the end of the deal
Like an agonizing whale, he
Jumped on the oceanic site,
And all of a sudden,
The leaning power of the dinghies,
The sound of the fallen screen,
The scream of Kurdi’s silent body,
Gave El Hedy a shout …
El Hedy, the nice-spirited graduate,
Made up his mind,
Left the heights of Djebel Biadha.
Lent a sum of French franc,
Held the old-fashioned bag
He’d just bought from the flea market
On the chest,
Kissed his stepmom,
Threw a slice of sausage
To the neighbor’s Siamese cat,
Bade farewell to the tiny room
Where his dreams have been cemented.
On the highway,
Thrilled, he reminded the Harraqa
Couldn’t help crying, he,
Yet, suddenly
Satan felt not free
Chid El Hedy on
Reciting the Koranic verses
As it awakened atrocious memories
Of the chaining up of mischievous Jinn.
His heart thumped,
The shadow of the hottie,
The incarnation of evil, the threshold to hell,
Sitting a meter away,
Caught not his attention.
Cursed bad luck, El Hedy repeated:
“Allah There is no God but He—The Living,
The Self-Subsisting, Eternal.
No slumber can seize Him nor sleep…”
Annoyed by the mask,
The monotonous cleaning of the hands,
The vibrating Nokia 3310
Emblazed with the face
Of Alan Shenu.
With the rise of the officer’s curtains,
The wind slapped his head,
Found mental corridors.
Energized by the Harqa project,
Tears of rain wet his diploma.
Declaring the end of the deal
Like an agonizing whale, he
Jumped on the oceanic site,
And all of a sudden,
The leaning power of the dinghies,
The sound of the fallen screen,
The scream of Kurdi’s silent body,
Gave El Hedy a shout …
RUN OUT OF CHARGE
Like a phone
Or a laptop bone,
Like a wrecked remote
Or a weird word,
With a tilting footnote
The poor dame,
Thirsty to have it all
If not have it thrown
Out of charge, she’s run
Unplugged, she’s been
Lonely around the sick scene
The pale vase
The leaning gaze
The dying room
The choked groom
A mountain of death-toll,
Is distressing the agonizing screen,
Digesting a feast of a haired teen.
With chemical keratin
Charge,
Give these tools life-
Charge,
Evade these fools’
Strife
As when
There’s a plug
Or the well is dug,
Witches may be saved
From that damned
Domestic plague.
Like a phone
Or a laptop bone,
Like a wrecked remote
Or a weird word,
With a tilting footnote
The poor dame,
Thirsty to have it all
If not have it thrown
Out of charge, she’s run
Unplugged, she’s been
Lonely around the sick scene
The pale vase
The leaning gaze
The dying room
The choked groom
A mountain of death-toll,
Is distressing the agonizing screen,
Digesting a feast of a haired teen.
With chemical keratin
Charge,
Give these tools life-
Charge,
Evade these fools’
Strife
As when
There’s a plug
Or the well is dug,
Witches may be saved
From that damned
Domestic plague.
THE ANT
On the edge of the corroded shelf,
The huge hole cherishes the breezy atmosphere.
The dust gets in gently;
With trembling antennae,
The minuscule ant, the true enemy of
Stinginess, greed and selfishness,
Climbs the cup.
Boots of bubbles
Block her leg
From reaching the handle,
Her threshold to the quench.
Still the wave of dust
Keeps snoring,
Shaking the thin surface
Of her back.
With a little hope,
The wise ant whistles:
“What a wormhole,
A reality whir!”
Exhorts the Army
To come to her aid
Like the wise predecessor
Exhorts her fellows
To get back to the contaminated dwelling
Before a pair of moccasins,
During the pandemic,
Flies away into the path of
A destiny, not similar
To the ants of Suleiman.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
SERENITY
—Dr. Anissa Sboui
Surfing the sofa,
Startling symptoms,
Sophie sipped Sprite.
Silky surface,
Savoury soap served,
Seasoned with some sordid salad,
Samuel, the scoundrel,
Sneaks into the space,
Sucks in syrup.
Satiated,
Sophie salutes
Serene spectrum,
Saving such
Sustainable stay.
____________________
Dr. Anissa Sboui is a university teacher and a poet from Sousse, Tunisia. She has published books titled, Transcend (2018); Rebirth (2019); Number One (2020); The Co-Avid Breath (2021); and Hurricane (2022). Her three short-stories, “Alone”, “Coincidence”, and “The Moody Bookworm”, are also published in journals. Her poems have been featured in Writing in a Woman’s Voice; The Writers’ Club; Galaxy: International Multidisciplinary Research Journal; Dumpster Fire Press; Medusa’s Kitchen; The 2020 Annual by the Elizabeth River Writers; Valiant Scribe; and Literary Heist, Setu Bilingual Journal. Welcome back to the Kitchen, Anissa!
A reminder that a workshop series with Indigo Moor begins tonight on Zoom. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
____________________
—Medusa
On the edge of the corroded shelf,
The huge hole cherishes the breezy atmosphere.
The dust gets in gently;
With trembling antennae,
The minuscule ant, the true enemy of
Stinginess, greed and selfishness,
Climbs the cup.
Boots of bubbles
Block her leg
From reaching the handle,
Her threshold to the quench.
Still the wave of dust
Keeps snoring,
Shaking the thin surface
Of her back.
With a little hope,
The wise ant whistles:
“What a wormhole,
A reality whir!”
Exhorts the Army
To come to her aid
Like the wise predecessor
Exhorts her fellows
To get back to the contaminated dwelling
Before a pair of moccasins,
During the pandemic,
Flies away into the path of
A destiny, not similar
To the ants of Suleiman.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
SERENITY
—Dr. Anissa Sboui
Surfing the sofa,
Startling symptoms,
Sophie sipped Sprite.
Silky surface,
Savoury soap served,
Seasoned with some sordid salad,
Samuel, the scoundrel,
Sneaks into the space,
Sucks in syrup.
Satiated,
Sophie salutes
Serene spectrum,
Saving such
Sustainable stay.
____________________
Dr. Anissa Sboui is a university teacher and a poet from Sousse, Tunisia. She has published books titled, Transcend (2018); Rebirth (2019); Number One (2020); The Co-Avid Breath (2021); and Hurricane (2022). Her three short-stories, “Alone”, “Coincidence”, and “The Moody Bookworm”, are also published in journals. Her poems have been featured in Writing in a Woman’s Voice; The Writers’ Club; Galaxy: International Multidisciplinary Research Journal; Dumpster Fire Press; Medusa’s Kitchen; The 2020 Annual by the Elizabeth River Writers; Valiant Scribe; and Literary Heist, Setu Bilingual Journal. Welcome back to the Kitchen, Anissa!
A reminder that a workshop series with Indigo Moor begins tonight on Zoom. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
____________________
—Medusa
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
