Thirst For Friendship
My fingers
deliberately light the lanterns, whenever fate besieges the cracks in the wall
with its dust, with a rough birth, and its sighs run on the sharpness of the
axes, stripping off the river’s clothes with the tattoo of a rain cloud, as it
opens the buttons of my mind with the bridle of longing, stealing another
chapter from each chapter, and playing on the strings of Weakness with every
desire, rebellious, obstructing the steps of resurrection, to strengthen the
echoes of the past without a required bet... knocking on the doors of a
forgotten city in which memories have aged from the horror of the shock,
committed to silence due to satiety, and thirst gnaws at its bones and blows in
the desert of its barren eyes except for his image, like a rich oasis that
bears fruit for the soul And her poor heart rejoices, she roams its empty
alleys, watching the movements of the waves of people, and every now and then
she reads the supplications of her amulet, murmuring his remembrance in
prostration, unconscious.
A Forgotten Friendship
Your pale color
conspires
Against the
breaths of my past night,
Above the
branches of a shadow that spreads...
Shivers of
mummified calls
With the
biography of immortal youths
Far from his
hateful nightmare
He tore the book
of stillness inside the womb
The blackness of
the night without mercy,
Because I am not
the prophet of the pomegranate flower
I will carry tidings of amulets Pursuit.!
With the scent of dimples, you penetrate the treasures of my pores and knots.
My silence mixes with the trembling of my heart,
to witness the places of pain between my ribs,
hidden behind the breaks of light,
like a hoopoe that left its mind in the court of Bilqis,
crawling with the body of disappointment,
from the traces of rescue bearing the features of the wind,
and running in the fields. Light
To sow the
sounds of the flute and sighs
Between the
valleys of boredom, to no avail
Reconciles with
the agendas of absence,
Whenever your
specter leaves the spirit of forgetfulness
Curses the
drowning of his fingers between the strings of an oud
Called for help
by the cruelty of a mirror,
From which the
lines of convergence were hidden
And at the
bottom of my coffee cup...
The
fortune-tellers gathered to condemn Obsessions
The lie of
penetrating the intoxicated fog
With the hooves
of the clouds,
While they are
knocking on the gates of heaven.!
ADNAN AL-RIKANI
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