Moaen Shalabia- Israel

Moaen Shalabia- Israel


Wave is return

BY: Moaen Shalabia

Why should I forgive, friends?
should I ?!
Does any one of you carry the morning baggage?
Does anyone who can read the catastrophe in my grief,
And participate in the death of the night the suffer of darkness,
Tearing an artery in the entrails of my time
There was a flower which grows in my heart
There was a tulip which grew in my soul
My life has gone… I wish it had not.

A child was growing in my heart,
She was fidgeting in the womb of sorrow… suffering
A female was in my soul
Painting the wings of the sun and the remains of a smile
But the arrows of those whom I love
Were shut, in morning, to my soul and… hit the target.!

What should I do, friends?
Does any one of you carry the worries of our nation?
Does any one of you read the books of the sea,
And sip the remains of coal from the bottom of the cup?
The child says:
What should I do in order to turn me pregnant !?

What do I write, strangers?
Is there any one of you who can understand what I may write?
I might write all your sins
And hug my torments at noon

What should I do, my sweethearts?
Does any one of you know the taste of kissing
The salty wound on your breasts
Does any one of you know how the love will be
On the bridge of return?
Does any one of you know
how the soul goes around the tent?
Does any one of you know
The hunger of the heart, the passion of a suicide.?

What should I do, my beloved ones?
It is a mirage..a mirage
Continue your watery dreams
Continue the wife’s dream
Cause tomorrow you will hug these wave

Wave is return,
Wave is return.
The departure of the spirit

By: Moaen shalabia

I saw you painting the dream
between the fire and the night,
And moons above the night,
And grief behind the spirit,
And the colour of grief likes the twilight.

I saw you carrying the sea in your eyes expatriate,
And plates of faith and disbelief,
I asked the sea if it know its carrier,
The sea replies waves of tiredness.

I saw you silent dumping the grief on your lips,
You don’t ask now about my drowning?
You said: “yes”,
Why the river doesn’t flow as we like,
We don’t want to pass the love like leaves.

I saw you hugging the thorn,
And the thorn is wounding you
Then I said: enough
Of the thorn’s wounds and anxiety

You are incessantly behind my grief and in it
Can you stand the grief of departure?
I’m exhausted with grief, I don’t know
Whether the spirit leaving my body
Will obliterate this grief.


By: Moaen shalabia

I assumed my friend
That reading poetry
Could be an amazement or a fancy or a whisper of fire
And I assumed my gorgeous
That writing poetry
Could be a thought or a vigor or a drive
And I assumed my love
That femininity
Could be smoothness of touch or trembling astonishment
And I assumed my princess
That your savage embrace
Could be sin itself or a dose of amber
And I assumed that sadness my precious
Is a country like all the mirrors and all the seas
And I assumed my murderer, that death is wrapped
In all the aspects of coming of age, and it could fill the void
And I assumed that passion my inspirer, is a language
That comes swiftly without waiting
And I assumed that dreaming my mistress
Is an old obsession that never stops spinning
And that the soul and that the body my captivator
Is a flute in the tenderness of the day.
However, I have never assumed
That you leaving forever
Would terminate the place and end the time
And that my ascension into my abyss
Would be for love
Even if it was suicide.

Night and wine and woman

By: Moaen shalabia

My wooden home
has two windows opened to their limits
and shadow of a woman inflaming the distance
I look upon the sea on the wake of the evening
and upon a glass of wine
stirring the echoes.

My wooden home has the smell of dew
and the shape of a soul in the palm of a blur
in our wooden home there is an aged jar
and a thirsty butterfly haunting me
into the futility of speech.

It is you..
and for a while I’ve been looking in you for my death
here you are, and this taste is monstrous
exploding in me a volcano
and inflaming in me my sails.

Here you are
and in your eyes a storm of drunkenness
oh you hug and burn and fill and spill me
wine over my crematorium
so don’t ever change and be oh a woman
destroying all my kingdom
and embrace me as a bottle
that danced on the belt of a storm
thus the flame of its wine burns me into poetry
for an ultimate heat and a kosovo glass
cover all my questions .!!

Moaen Shalabia – c.v


Moaen shalabia; Born on 14 October – 1958 in Maghar Village – The Galilee.

One of the Arab Palestinian national Minority in Israel.

Finished his studies in Haifa University – (Business Administration and management. 1987-1990).

Poet and prose writer, his writing career began in 1976, he published his poems in national local newspapers and in Arabic papers abroad.
His first born was the first book of poetry in 1989.

Participated in many local and international festivals such as:
International poetry festival– Maghar Galilee.
Cairo International Book Fair- Egypt.
Jarash festival- Jordan.
Palestine poetry meeting- Palestine.
Doha cultural festival- Qatar.
Istanbul International Book Fair- Turkey.
The Romania International Festival “Curtea de Arges Poetry Nights”- Romania.
Teranova festival- Roma – Italy.
Alquds 2009 capital of Arab culture.
The Romanian International Festival – Days and Nights.
The Struga Poetry Evenings – Republic of Macedonia.
Sarajevo Days of Poetry – Bosnia

Was awarded by the Palestinian education ministry for his blessed efforts in enriching the national education and for his loyalty to the Palestinian issue and the Principles of justice and freedom. (July 2000).
Was awarded by the “Arab intellectuals forum” – Jerusalem 2008)
Besides, he has received many appreciation certificates.
A member in the union of Arab writers and the movement of world poets.(Poetas del mundo).
His literary production was discussed and criticized in many sessions in homeland and abroad.
Some of his poems were translated into many languages, like Hebrew, French, Turkish, English, Romanian, Polish, Macedonian, Italian and Bosnian language
His collection of poems was included in the national and international anthologies. 00 972 522694581

The poet’s publishing:


1. The wave is return – 1989.
(AL-ASWAR, Palestinian Culture Quarterly_ ACRE).

2. Between two butterflies – 1999.

3. The memory of senses – 2001.

4. Rituals of Solitude – 2004.
(AL-ASWAR, Palestinian Culture Quarterly_ ACRE).

5. The immigration of the naked longings – 2008.
(AL-ASWAR, Palestinian Culture Quarterly_ ACRE).

6. stuck poems –
(“Culture” for publishing and distribution – Tunisia 2014)


1. Meditations – 1992.
(Renaissance Publishing and Distribution – Nazareth).

2. Narrow evening – 1995.
(Abu Rahmoun, printing and publishing – Acre.

3. Spirituality – 1998.
(Batov for publication – Haifa).