26th, 27th and 28th July
I remember how among the questions posed to the people met and interviewed at the beginning of Rima, there was one in particular I really liked:
Could you tell me a story from your homeland? A story which you would like to tell to your
children, a story that you like to tell because it reminds you of your country, or reminds you of
someone you loved there…?
The Spoken word workshop put stories that all of us have inside into narration, verses, metaphors and sometimes rhymes.
Thanks to Fattima Mahdi and to the participants, Amanda Eke, Justin Galea and Kenneth Scicluna for sharing what they feel about displacement.
Texts, videos (click on the names to see the videos of the poems) and pictures below.
How much a dollar really cost?
The question is detrimental, paralyzing my thoughts
Pursuits of riches and glory burn round the clock
We sell our tickets to heaven and buy our way to the top
While our playgrounds and our churches crumble
The gears of greed and capitalism start to tumble
Gears that run on American's debt
And they've got their ways of making you
Their ways of keeping you
Controlled; live in a poor man's world like they want you to
20 years old, could see it clearly
Within this lifespan I'd attain some revenue, maybe sincerley
Enroll in college and pay dearly
Walk off from graduation
A jobless fool with no pension plan
Dreams to make ten grand or maybe build a brand
I knew this one dude he became a father, baby's brown eyes that lay open
At a dad he would never bond with, due to the golden token
A dad he needed
Asked to take some sick leave, he didn't receive it
"I'm working this job for you don't you believe it?"
stagnation is one thing that we've defeated.
Listen to me, see I would kill for you.
Cross this world for you
But daddy's gotta work." And he walked out the door.
Tell me how much a dollar cost to you?
Qed nipprova niftaħ għajnejja
L-iżveljarin tal-mowbajl daqq.
Qed nipprova niftaħ ghajnejja imma iebsa,
Mhux li kien nerġa mmur lura
għal utopia ta’ bil-lejl
il-ħolma mhux mittiefsa
Nitfa l-iżveljarin. B subgħajja inqalleb l-iscreen.. ngħaddi naqa l- ħin… naghmel café u.. biskuttin
Ġejja ohra minn-nofsinhar...
‘ed jaqsmu l- bahar ifittxu l-ħajja
telqu id-dar biex jsibu
La barchetta in mezzo al mare
è diretta a Santa Fè
dove va per caricare
mezzo chilo di caffè.
Agħmillu karta.. Agħmillu l-karta, forsi jħalluħ iħuf bil-kwiet
Għalxejn il-karta ma wasalx malta għax fi triqtu dan laħaq miet.
Ix-xoghol mmur bil-lanċa
Waqt li nħoss iż-żiffa tal-Port il-Kbir, riħa tal-baħar ta’ filgħodu niftakar fir-rakkonti ta’ missieri ta’ żmien il-Libja, l-oil rigs, it-tbatija u l-flus.
Ġieli noqgħod nehwden jekk għandiex nitlaq
Fejn ma nafx imma l-aqwa li mmur... ndur
Issa b’tal-linja, bil-mutur
…mhux issa ċ-ċans?
mhux issa ċ-ċans li nerħliha lej l-orjent li tant ilu isejjaħli
mhux issa ċ-ċans li ninsa kollox waqt il-parties tal-qamar kwinta tajlandiżi.
mhux issa ċ-ċans li nieħu selfie mat-tfal foqra sudanizi meta mmur nqassmilhom il-ħelu
mhux issa ċ-ċans kif għadni żgħir u mimli enerġija
mhux issa ċ-ċans li nitlaq kollox forsi nsib xortija
mhux issa ċ-ċans li naħrab avolja jien bla ħtija
mhux issa ċ-ċans, hekk jew b’hekk x’għandi x’titlef?
‘mhux issa ċ-ċans’
Erġajt sibt ruħi quddiem l-iscreen…ix-xogħol
Mhux li kien nerga mmur lura ghal utopia ta bil-lejl, il-ħolma mhux mittiefsa
Qed nipprova niftaħ għajnejja
We stand on opposing shores
our minds, outstretched
sparking a bright cloud
in dark anticipation.
An umbilical rope
on which we pull
holding it tight,
sending thoughts along it
two cable cars
crossing each other
a stormy sea,
shards of wind, shrieking
a harpy sliding
picking at travelling hopes.
Leaving a home.
Finding a home.
Searching, looking through
the dusty windows
of a locked-up forlorn hope;
thick walls stained
by patches of acid yearning.
Pipes are bled, rusted.
Flames are snuffed, cold.
Food has turned sour,
and I am too old.
Let's unpick the bricks.
Let's air the must.
Let's speak the words that
ignite a light
by which to swim
to each other's side;
with each swing
of each arm
let's prick sharp holes that
of the night