Are like a bald head of a devout monk
Like a flipped golf stick.
Like a ballerina in the midst of the jump
The petals are her fluffy skirt.
Yellow daisies at night are like a kneeling woman, washed by the shore.
They are bold and brave,
They lower their yellow petals like a tablecloth,
And share their source of energy with the night.
Their smell is not particularly beautiful but it’s pleasant;
As pleasant as a companion to share the night stroll along Haifa’s shore.
They took an abode there. It’s the reign of daisies
As they stretch along the beach and fill the green places
That paves the way to the Mediterranean.
Daisies at night are the most vulnerable,
And yet no one picks them at that time.
During the day, as they spread their petals like a swirling sufi,
Everyone gathers a tuft and puts it in their hair.
But at night, they’re safe.
Every night is a leap of faith.
It’s said that the word daisy comes from “day’s eye”,
Indeed they seem like the eye of the day that stays open all night.
The petals of the daisy don’t close up an protect its yellow center of gravity,
But they rather open up, reveal, scream and surrender
To something bigger than the heart imagines.
AICHA BINT YUSIF 