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   Michal  Mahgerefteh

                       Poetry and Art

Red Thread Around My Wrist

"The idea of wearing a Red String around the wrist dates back many hundreds of years, with some of the earliest mentions occurring in the Old Testament of the Bible. While the beliefs may vary from culture to culture, the general idea of the Red String Bracelet is present in a number of religions and cultures. It is well known in Kabbalah (an ancient Jewish tradition) and is commonly used in Buddhism, Hinduism, and Chinese culture. It also appears in deeply-held Latin American beliefs and even has ties to Christianity. In Kabbalah, a mystical form of Judaism, the Red String Bracelet is used for protection and luck. The idea is believed to have come from ancient Hebrew texts and is strongly associated with fending off the evil eye. In Buddhism, there are ceremonies that include tying a string around one’s wrist. The string is often imbued with a mantra and serves as a reminder to its wearer. In Hinduism, the string is often called “kalava” or “kautuka” and can have different meanings varying from protection to faith to marriage depending on the region. In Chinese culture, the Red Thread of Fate ties together everyone whose lives will intertwine, and is often associated with marriage. In Latin America, red bracelets are often put on newborn infants to protect them. In the Christian Bible, in Genesis 38:27-30, there’s a mention of a scarlet string being tied around the wrists of twin infants." Source: Pink Mango

Poem in progress -
editing and revising
Updated November 2021


When Night comes; it sings the voyage

of my longing, refines the mirage of each

day, mends heart aborted at birth, restores

the mortal flame left on the hill at Golgotha. 


In my joyous empty glass,

the desert yields the idols

I once loved; shatter it to bits,

I vow in song, repentance!


Why do I dance with the gathering

thorns that walk with thunder?

I am chained in hopeless, dreams

whose hissing congregates to dishearten

triumph; unaware of His OM silences

flowing in my veins for infinite hundredths.

The Golden City

Not here but there

I rest at your feet.

Your absence no longer

felt. I am present here,

in our everlasting home;

no clay-colored hands

bruised from a shard of

mourns. Together we kiss

the stone; love hidden

under my sleepy clothes.

My Reality

I don’t dwell in the perplexity

of fear, the struggle is vain…

I don’t ask questions; a rule

for a quiet life, a blessing…

I don’t dismiss the possibility

of dying out of loneliness…

I don’t love, I’m in love with

Love, a profound awareness. 

The Pen

Songs of praise invade my sober self.

An ache bathed in mortal flame enters

as I try to flee. A newborn soul; nourish

the smell of pine and rose, the murmur

of crashing waves, and ember of lovers’

touch. I plunge onto His Love as the pen

scurries in prayer until my outer garment

no longer mourns the absence of The King.

Being Aware

heavy accent in my sanctuary

restoring my outer broken skin

bold fragments of my birth-seed

a prick of light in a darkened alcove

seeps the forgotten on a newborn page

I squint to mirrored image and sound

centuries of foot-shuffled paths

diminished into proper importance

with infant milk and fertile dreams

repeated thoughts become an oath

a seed-point beginning of wonderment

containing everything yet unknown


My absence undermines the intent of prayer,

mute like a nocturnal flower in solitude.

Even if I try, my lips and voice do not collide.

Memories die, and I wish to leave my ancestors’

house; gossip and lies never come back.

My aging bones have shed their fringes,

I tremble as the edge of the tallit still blowing

on Your crucifying wood, on my way to the burial stone.

The Usher

A voice peering through unfathomable dreams,

brings forth useless battles and blades of error;

I’m a slave to lingering emotions, a bride on embers

of old sufferings, an infinite mourner hidden beneath

things I do not know, a devotee without an echo….

kiss my agape lips, you who guard the upper ladder.

Published by Soul-Lit Journal (2021)

The Guardians

I want to pause and look at the Eternal,

but have no place which my hand can touch.

Irresistible bare-bones, roaring to arouse

Love! Love! The forgotten human heart.

Self Awareness

On a quiet evening I kneel at the shore;

no longer mourns breadths of anger, nor

the loss of a parent. The Old Secret says

it is you who sings until the night collapses.

I occasionally wear a red string
my right wrist as a reminder 
of my roots, my heritage, my country,
my religion, my creator. 

Contact Michal Mahgerefteh 

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