Friday, November 1, 2019



Dream knocking
Over flying.
Up there
Candles of light
Locks the mind.
It's a shy, temporary smile
Nothing but a dream.
No touch … no feel
Breaks the soul
The ripples of the hummingbird's wings
No astray,
A passing breeze
Been waiting on ruins of a stage.
life is a joke
When dream unlooses the curtain,
truth is lost
Upon bashfulness.
Beauty of a woman.
Living in eddy of fear.
the search for the lost
Is a sleepy dream.

On The Margin

I’m living.
I haven’t left my place
If my dreams took over me,
Desire will take over my soul
For me to get out of my sea
Even if
Hanging on a board of misfortune.
Walking in paths of knowledge
On the margins of dunes' shelves
When roads leading to gratitude betrayed
Frivolous she- camel,
Obstacle on my way, is its step.
Jumping over the surface of mirage
Trying read Novels of betrayal.
Pushing winds from behind,
A desire for circumambulation.
If knowledge, among us, disappears
I tried to catch
fringes of its shadow,
For my mind to awaken its morning
and pick up what been scattered
Of debris in evening.
my destiny, give me an answer to
what are you doing to me?
What you draw,
Is my Destiny.
Injustice trains me
Towards a bridge
Without a future.

The Deceitful

Thou, a Contravener objector!
Here and there.
You are not reluctant,
Abstaining you are
By vanity advice.
flames of words block my path,
And the suffering of the homeland.
Your thinking and writing
The frame of the immature mind.
Calling for knot of the plague.
Your signs were understood
In the broad Sense.
captivated line, destroyed by dreams
Its lies were spilled
Sometimes as black ink
Other times as a red dance
Sometimes, as grudged perfume
And fire that complaints
hug each other Within imprisoned bird.
You lowered your wings
Colored by sorrows
After your obedience
Blinded generations in the march.
Thou, deceitful!
Rebuts of politics and religion.
You have torn the bonds of nations,
And you have demolished the feelings of all the poor.
Vanity nurseries
Have invaded minds
Without entry permission.
The truth
Is driven by frankness of eras.
Winds knock on your door
Carrying bodies that took the soul.
Having hardly questioned
The murdered and the expatriate
Fallen in the shadow of this existence.
A member of squadron, you are
From Squadrons of crows, you infiltrated.


No comments :

Post a Comment