This is my needle.
Its shine has been dulled by experience; its experience has kept its tip sharp. So, do not mind the hash marks that layer its cylinder and the metal tear that hangs in its opening--it still works.
My needle dips itself in virgin canvases, introducing emptiness to life.
And with that first stitch-scratch, it alters a passive environment forever.
My needle paves a new paradigm with braid and bass.
Threads of livelihood and blood weave in and out, mapping my history. The pattern is redundant--grow, peak, regress, repeat. The tip undulates as it irrigates the mature record, waxing a way for my future to flow. The beat is the benchmark--boom, tss, mellow, believe.
My needle teaches the loom and the spindle how to sign, and tell a story that can be seen and heard.
It gives birth in a place called Palestine to tatreez that tell tales of tragedy and triumph on cloth and vinyl.
My needle's legacy dons the heads of those deemed Palestinian, protecting them from the elements and proclaiming their identity. My needle tattoos airwaves that travel at warp speeds to singe follicles and corrode canals; it remembers the destruction of olive groves and the attempted uprooting of existence.
It reminds that Palestine still exists.
My needle writes my waton; my needle sings my anthem.
[This is dedicated to all of the 7attas and turntables, and those who work them. To some, you are fashionable. To me, you are more than that--I know your real worth, and I appreciate it. You are how Palestine is seen and heard; you are living symbols of my beloved land. And you will outlive any superficial trends. Guaranteed.]
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