Palestinian Artist


I've seen his paintings
At each exhibition.
The colors
Soft,
Quiet,
And subdued,
Like flute notes
Played at dawn,
Or waves,
Folding and
Unfolding
On the sand;
Like honey,
Smooth,
Golden,
And clovery;
Or
Old books
Bound in
Faded
Crimson leather.

Each one I found
And knew that it was his.
I've noticed
How his brush
Moves with the
Sureness
Of a craft
Borne on by steady winds.
No mincing
Minute
Brush strokes,
But whole areas
Swept into being
With swift color.

I've seen his struggle
To wrest beauty
From a dreary
Scene,
Or search
For nobleness
Within a
Martyr's face.
In all this time
I've never met him
Once
And yet...
I see his colors with my soul,
Trace brush
Strokes
With my heart
And I'm acquainted
With his mind.

**Painting by RKD**

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