Mountain, Stone

Do not name your daughters Shaymaa,

courage will march them

into the bullet path of dictators.

Do not name them Sundus,

the garden of paradise calls out to its marigolds,

gathers its green leaves up in its embrace.

Do not name your children Malak or Raneem,

angels want the companionship of others like them,

their silvery wings trailing the filth of jail cells,

the trill of their laughter a call to prayer.

Do not name your sons Hamza.

Do not taunt the torturer's whip

with promises of steadfastness.

Do not name your sons

Muhammad

Ahed

Zakaria

Ismail,

they will become seashells, disappear in the sand.

Do not name your children. Let them live

nameless, seal their eyelids

and sell their voices to the nightingale.

Do not name your children

and if you must

call them by what withstands

this endless season of decay.

Name them mountains,

call them stone.